Eat Your Words
by eloquentfever
Summary: NEW FANFIC: A Facebook group that bashes show choirs start to make eating disorder jokes related to Sebastian when he unintentionally loses weight. When his family falls into pieces after Kurt and Blaine accidentally out Sebastian, he decides to take advantage of the rumours by feigning an eating disorder for attention. TW: eating disorder, physical/child abuse. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Title** : Eat Yours Word  
 **Rated** : T – language, eating disorders **(trigger warning)** , suicidal thoughts/possible attempt **(trigger warning)** , possible character death **(trigger warning)** , mentions/depictions of child abuse **(trigger warning)** and mentions of sex  
 **Summary** : A Facebook group that bashes show choirs start to make eating disorder jokes related to Sebastian when he unintentionally loses weight. When his family falls into pieces after Kurt and Blaine accidentally out Sebastian, he decides to take advantage of the rumours by feigning an eating disorder for attention. Trigger warning: eating disorder. No endgame decided.  
 **Author's Note** : I posted this in another account but thought to come back to posting to this one. I thought to start this account a **_long_ **break from fanfiction writing with an ED fanfiction. Yes, this **does** end up with Sebastian getting an ED. Also, since I have received comments before about it, I want to say that English is not my first language… Enjoy.

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter One

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Sebastian was sitting at the edge of his harder-than-his-history-exam mattress, in his mouse-sized bed. His plaid bedsheets were on a heap on the floor, next to his shiny polished mocha-brown loafers. Sebastian had his outdated iPhone clutched in his hands. Did you know his iPhone was so ancient he could pass it off as vintage?

Sebastian heartily scrolled through _Bash-Up Mash-Up's_ Facebook page.

He needed something to brighten his day up. Sebastian had a calculus exam that morning that he didn't study for.

This was because Sebastian did not even take calculus. This will be dealt with later, however.

He paused when he landed on a picture of Kurt Hummel in eye-gauging purple, standing outside the Lima Bean. One hand was holding a coffee that Sebastian knew had as much fat as a box of Skinny Cow fudge bars, and the other hand clutching what apparently to be a massive full-fat, fudge-filled chocolate bar.

 _'It seems to us that the fantastically fagulous Kurt Hummel had decided to appear before the Lima Bean, dressed in the most erotic shade of reddish purple. In this case, gay can both mean 'happy' and 'will suck dick for free if you buy me a MAC moisturiser!' This mangenta male model continues to remind all homosexual men to stay in the closet… At least, until they could find something more interesting to wear than a flock of extinct bird feathers glued together with melted purple Crayola.'_

Sebastian collapsed into a fit of laughter on his unmade bed.

This Facebook group was all the show choir rage as of three weeks ago when the group launched. It was now hotter than a stripper in fondue. Nobody in the show choir room breathed in case they were having their photos snapped that instant. They typically took their photos outside or inside the Lima Bean, a popular hotspot for all tacky show choirs. _Including_ his own tacky show choir. At least that was how it started out as.

There were a few times where there were pictures taken from houses, across streets and in shady bars. Fun.

Sebastian remembered a post where they once zoomed in on Rachel Berry's face when she was sipping on a soy chai _whatever_ for her delicate throat muscles. The _BUMU_ Group mentioned that her jaw was sharp enough to cut through her boyfriend's doughy stomach and give him the abs he so desperately desired. That post Sebastian had screenshotted and looked at in times of complete distress—like the times he remembered that he did _not_ win Regionals and was currently stuck doing 'charity events' for the rest of the year. Sure, his performance had been dedicated to a guy whose life he fucked up but _when_ did this karma thing work exactly?

He'd been nice for a total of five days. He _at least_ deserved a new car. His bent-up Bentley was getting him nowhere ( _fast_ ). Sebastian kept on getting fined for driving as slow as a disabled turtle running through quicksand.

Sebastian had a new notification from the group. He licked his lip in interest. It was about _him_. That was the first time the group had ever posted about him.

The humour from Sebastian's face disappeared when he saw the picture they used.

It was a picture of Sebastian was standing outside the Lima Bean, dressed in a black button-down and a pair of form-fitting black jeans. His boots were black too. Momentarily, Sebastian admired how photogenic he was. He also thoroughly believed that they were going to make a jab at the fact that he _must_ mourning his loss at Regionals. By the way, that picture had to be weeks ago because he couldn't find those fucking pants anywhere now.

Then, sixteen-year-old Sebastian Smythe decided to read the caption and felt his blood boil.

 _'Sebastian Smythe decked in all black to remind everyone that he has just about as much curves as Kate Moss in the 90's—and that he's so anorexic he doesn't breathe just in case air has calories. There were multiple anonymous tips flooding in noticing Smythe's lack of (table) manners during Regionals, suggesting that Smythe is (literally) starving for attention!'_

 _"SEBASTIAN!"_ his mother yelled out from downstairs. "Do you want _WAFFLES_ or _PANCAKES_ for breakfast?"

Sebastian looked at the time and realised how late he was going to be. Dalton was in _walking distance_ from his house, but his mother insisted that Sebastian drive there with his car just in case someone wanted to mug Sebastian. Yeah, like it mattered. Unless they were underage and wanted to get into gay bars, he doubted that they'd benefit from his paltry allowance (which he did _not_ use to buy lunch but instead spent it on overpriced coffee he couldn't really afford).

"How about _EGGS?_ " Nathalie emphasised loudly on any food item she was offering. "Do you want _EGGS?_ "

Sebastian scrunched up his nose. He did not have time to eat breakfast if he wanted to get to his exam in time to fail it.

"Coffee!" Sebastian replied automatically, as he looked for his Dalton uniform. "The Nescafé one… _Cappuccino!_ "

He shoved his phone into his pocket. He made his bed, and staggered to put on his Dalton uniform as quickly as possible. He buttoned his blazer and absentmindedly reached for his belt to keep his pants up.

Who the fuck took his measurements the first time? A bastard that couldn't measure anyone over five-foot-five!

"I'm _NOT_ giving you just _COFFEE!_ " Nathalie yelled out. "Do you want _EGGS?_ I'll make you _EGGS!_ "

His mother sounded like she was going to torture him with the eggs rather than they feed him the damn things.

Sebastian stared at himself in the mirror. What a joke. Dalton pants were supposed to be _slim fitted_. He made a mental note to leave a strongly worded message with the occasional _fuck you_ and _who the hell even pays you?_ to his five-foot-one tailor when he came back home. What? Being nice for five days was _hard work_ —and it wasn't like he was throwing sea salt slushies to a ten-year-old with a moustache. Sebastian was just leaving constructive criticism! And he should because there was enough room in his pants to shoplift at least three variations of Pepperidge Farms' Milano biscuits!

"Sebastian, do you have a razor?" his sister called out from her room. "I need one today."

Sebastian rolled his eyes. He couldn't believe this. The one day of the year where Lena wanted to shave her massive hairy cunt and it _had_ to be the day where he was too busy to annoy his black-haired, brown-eyed sister about what kind of guy she met last night that was so special that he deserved her effort into looking sort of like a woman.

Sebastian left his room, giving an unused razor to Lena. "What does he look like?" he said in a whisper because he did not want his mother to hear the fact that he was interested in a _guy_. Nathalie didn't know Sebastian was gay yet.

"Not your type," Lena pushed him playfully. "He doesn't put out for _months_. I've been working my way at him for nearly a year now. He's just decided to sleep with me. It's romantic. I _love_ him." Sebastian looked horrified.

Realising the time, Sebastian walked downstairs as fast as possible. He stood by the doorway, waiting for his mother to fix his tie. _Yes_ , his mother still did his tie.

Just as she was redoing his tie, Sebastian caught sight of the clock. _Shit_. He shoved his hot eggs from the shiny, new pan into a Tupperware container and grabbed his coffee-filled thermos. Sebastian gave his mother an obligatory kiss on the cheek because if he didn't, she'd think he didn't love her anymore.

He bolted out of the house before his mother could tell him to get her a jug of 2% milk when he came home that day.

Sebastian shoved his heavy, tattered Nike backpack at the front of his car and then walked to the nearest trashcan to dispose of his eggs. He scrunched up his nose. Just the smell of plastic and scrambled egg made Sebastian's stomach reel. _Look at him_. Sebastian had the allowance of a thirteen-year-old and a car of a seventy-five-year-old that kept on saying that the first car he ever owned still ran 'smooth' (as smooth as frozen honey out of a jar.) The only reason he was in Dalton was because his obscenely rich grandmother decided to pay off his tuition, because she thought that he could do wonderful things… and she was _right_. Sebastian didn't know he could strike the fear of death into a freshman just by insulting his flute-playing and telling him that his boyfriend must be so unsatisfied with his _blowing_ skills.

He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. This was _not_ a cappuccino.

Sebastian snorted to himself and placed his keys into the ignition. Well, if it wasn't his mother's way of telling him that if he didn't get his ass to school right now, he was going to be _latte_ for his calculus exam.


	2. Chapter 2

**oh my God. i recently got an influx of reviews on this story, and i just randomly remembered this account... thank you, guys. and also, i'm so sorry for the wait. it was not intentional. i actually forgot until i received those wonderful reviews, but now i am extremely excited to update - hopefully more often! and as for Guy Lantern's comment, yes... he is going to fake it, but he is definitely going to develop one. and be tortured.**

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Two

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"You know for someone that doesn't care about what a Facebook group says about him, you sure do spend a lot of time… _caring_ ," sixteen-year-old Blaine Anderson said, hands enclosed around his medium drip coffee.

Mercedes gave Blaine a calculated look. "That's because they're not telling _you_ that your ass could do with a run."

"Or that the only reason they'd give you a role with Barbara Streisand is if you were playing a horribly disfigured version of her," Rachel commented, her thin arms crossed over her chest. Blaine smiled. Her new animal sweater was cute… if you liked dead cats interwoven in dark blue fabric. "The pressure for perfection is terribly suffocating on a young star such as myself. How am _I_ expected to perform when I can't focus on anything else other than the fact that my jaw could apparently be used as fine weaponry? It's—it's… _it's_ …!"

"Terrible I know," Kurt rolled his eyes and sarcastically said, "You bring new meaning to the word _jawbreaker_."

"I know!" Rachel replied. Kurt's sarcasm was completely lost on her.

Today, Blaine ordered his drip with a shot of sugar-free vanilla syrup because he had to celebrate the fact that his older brother, Cooper, wasn't planning to come back to Ohio for a very long time.

Blaine also celebrated approximately three hours of Kurt not opening that damn Facebook page, but it looked like he spoke too soon. Kurt—and every other member of the New Directions—was _obsessed_ with that page.

Kurt was particularly obsessed with a picture of him in holding a Lima Bean non-fat mocha with black, fingerless gloves _("Hands hurt after jerking all night!")_ , and another one where he was holding a Lima Bean non-fat mocha whilst wearing long, shiny golden boots _("Captain Kurt sending gay men to the hospital! One failed suicide attempt at a time!")._

"Kurt?" Blaine called out his boyfriend's name, as Rachel and Mercedes leaned over to stare at Kurt's screen.

It wasn't until every Ohio-based show choir was being followed around by a fanatical Facebook group that Blaine came to realise just how many non-fat mochas Kurt drank over the course of the week. This also meant that Blaine was slurping down a lot of coffee himself. Well, that solved the mystery of Blaine Devon Anderson's sudden insomnia.

Well, _that_ and the irrational fear that he was going to lose Kurt to the wonders of New York. That too.

"Earth to _Kuuuurrrrt?_ " Blaine called out in a sing-song voice. He waited five minutes and Kurt didn't do as much as flinch when Blaine called him out on looking through that group— _again_.

Kurt's face was glued to the screen, his jaw dropping. "Look at this."

"Kurt, I _know_ that the comments they make about Mercedes' size, Rachel's— _um_ —face, Finn's and Brittney's… interesting views on the world, or how— _err_ —liberal you are with your clothing are _stupid_ without you showing me," Blaine wanted to say his piece before he indulged into any of Kurt's gossip. Kurt shoved his phone into Blaine's hand in one swift, almost dance-like motion. It was almost scary. "And I know you think that I can't comment on it because the only photos they took of me was when I was working out and most of the comments I received back were… _err_ … positive—wait, is that _Sebastian?_ "

Kurt nodded enthusiastically. "I _almost_ feel bad for assuming that Sebastian is behind the group in the first place."

"At least you didn't write him a strongly worded email telling him that you _know_ that he's the one behind the Facebook group because," Blaine's cheeks coloured in as he swallowed the lump in his throat, "you think that nobody else would write sixteen posts devoted solely to your boyfriend's hair products."

Mercedes looked impressed. "I wrote the Sebastard a few… _um_ … strongly worded messages myself."

"And myself," Rachel nodded her head. "And Santana. Though her choices of words were not exactly for the faint of heart. She tried to rationalise this by reminding me that Sebastian doesn't have a heart."

 _Which is rich coming from her_ , Blaine thought. He did not want to start a Glee war, so he kept this thought to himself.

"What do you think?" Kurt gestured towards the phone in Blaine's hand.

 _"Oh!_ About the picture of Sebastian… Sebastian's picture on the Facebook group! You want my… _opinion_ on it? _"_ Blaine blushed, taking in the photograph and caption. This was not his forte.

Blaine felt like something solid was starting to form into his stomach as he took in the picture of Sebastian in all black. He thought the caption was going to be about the fact that Sebastian slits his wrists in his sleep, or that he was trying to be edgy. The whole 'I only drink Diet Coke and black coffee' angle was a bit unnerving for him. Because he knew that Sebastian didn't even like black coffee. But there was one thing he couldn't ignore…

"Wow, he lost a _lot_ of weight," Blaine was honestly surprised by the sheer volume of weight Sebastian had managed to lose since he'd last seen him a couple months ago. He hadn't seen Sebastian since the Karofsky debacle.

"I know," Kurt replied, shaking his head. "I hate to actually vouch for Sebastian Smythe, but I think that your Facebook group might legitimately be making fun of someone that has an _actual_ problem."

Blaine felt like his heart stopped in his chest. "You… think that Sebastian actually has a problem with food?"

Kurt stared at Blaine like he was insane. "Yes, I do."

"Well, I know if any of you lost that much weight in a couple of months, I wouldn't be so quick to think that you suddenly had an eating problem," Rachel sipped her soy chai latte—made with warm honey and ginger.

"Yes, Rachel… but you've seen us _eat_ ," Kurt pointed out.

"Kurt, you _barely_ see him," Mercedes crossed her arms, leaning against the chair. "He didn't eat at a bar. He doesn't eat from a tacky coffee chain. That doesn't mean that your little gay friend is counting the amount of carbs he eats."

Kurt nodded his head, but didn't seem convinced.

"Kurt, Mercedes is right," Blaine added on, noticing Mercedes beam at him. He could get on her good side after all.

"You're telling me that someone could look like _that_ …" Kurt gestured towards the picture of Sebastian-in-black on his phone, "And _not_ have a problem with food?"

"Yes," Blaine honestly said.

"But—" Kurt was cut off by Mercedes.

"Let it go, Kurt," she gave him a pointed look. "Even if he did have a problem with food, what are you going to do? You can't try and fix every gay guy out there. That's not your responsibility."

Kurt didn't say anything else, but he went back to drinking his now ice-cold non-fat mocha.

Another fifteen minutes of silence before their phones buzzed again. Blaine sighed deeply because he knew that this was another notification. Kurt immediately went to see their newest post, and then looked smug and self-righteous momentarily. Blaine raised an eyebrow, as Kurt yelled out a triumphant " _I_ told you!"

Mercedes rolled her eyes. "That don't mean that kid got issues."

"Purposely throwing away food is not an issue?" Rachel asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Blaine hated himself for getting up just so he could look at Kurt's phone. He didn't know why they were all crowded around, looking at Kurt's phone when Mercedes and Rachel had phones themselves that automatically informed them of an update to their super special most important Facebook show choir bashing group. Blaine seemed surprised. It was a picture of Sebastian in his Dalton clothes—which he was swimming in. He was throwing away eggs in a bin.

Blaine was taken back by how good these photographs were… you know, for a Facebook group that ridiculed people. Blaine couldn't get a good selfie even if he stood in the most natural lighting possible.

"Leave him alone," Blaine said in irritation. "Haven't any of you thrown something you should've eaten but didn't want to eat in the trash before?" even saying it sounded foreign to Blaine.

"No, and I especially wouldn't have considered it for something as innocuous as eggs," Kurt replied. "Have you?"

"No," Blaine flushed. "But that doesn't mean that he has a problem. But I will talk to him if it makes any of you—"

"Oh! There's a _new post!"_ Kurt's attention got deterred away from Sebastian's possible 'life-threatening eating disorder' that Blaine didn't believe existed to a post about whether or not Jeff Sterling was related to Sam Evans.


	3. Chapter 3

**the response for this fanfic has been unbelievable. i've tried to write the next few chapters as quick as possible... and totally intent on updating now!**

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Three

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Sebastian was swallowing the hard lump in his throat as he knocked on the light-coloured door outside a white-picket-fence house. His lip twitched and a strand of deep brown hair fell into his vision.

He clutched a bouquet of freshly picked baby's breaths into his clammy, freckled hands.

The door swung open, and Sebastian suddenly felt his cheeks and ears redden. His hands were shaking more doing this… _nice thing_ than trying to answer question number seven on his calculus exam a week ago. By the way, did Sebastian ever mention how horribly horrible his fucking horrible exam was?

"Hey," Dave Karofsky said, looking confused. He also looked a little like he was scared Sebastian was going to take him to his invisible gingerbread house to indulge in his childhood, cannibalistic fantasies. "It's… _you_."

"Yeah," Sebastian replied hoarsely. "How are you?"

"I'm good," said the guy that tried to kill himself a couple of months ago. "How are you…? You don't look so good."

Sebastian stared down at his tattered, old black running shoes. It looked great with his new, ugly camo pants, and his long-sleeved black pinstriped button-down. Sebastian could deny the fact that he lost weight all damn day long if he wanted, but it wasn't making any of his old, good clothes fit. He bought a bunch of ugly, discounted articles of clothing a few days ago, because he was sick of being swallowed by his own fucking favourite pair of jeans.

When Sebastian didn't answer, Dave asked, "You… got me _flowers?_ "

Sebastian nodded his head and offered him the bouquet. Dave tentatively accepted it.

"Look, man," Sebastian couldn't dare to meet Dave's shiny brown eyes. "I'm sorry, okay…? _I'm_ _sorry_."

Dave put the bouquet down. "Hey… _hey_ ," Dave grabbed Sebastian's shoulders. Green eyes met brown ones, and Sebastian felt his heart pounding harder than ever. Dave let go by then, but Sebastian's eyes remained locked with his. "You aren't the reason that night happened, okay? Come on… how long have you beating yourself up about this?"

"I'm not beating my-fucking-self up about it," all Sebastian could think about was the fact that he hadn't been invited in yet. "Can… can I come in?" Sebastian asked tentatively. Even his eyebrow was gleaming with sweat.

"I would let you in but I've got to go anyway," Dave said. It was a _lie_. Sebastian knew that Dave didn't want him in and was just trying to be nice. "My dad—he has people coming over later."

Sebastian nodded his head. "Yeah okay," he wished he could say _something_.

Hell, he had a lot of things that he wanted to say to Dave. Mostly stuff about him being stupid and that he shouldn't have said those things. He had no right to say them. Sebastian wanted to take back every word he said, and say some _nice stuff_. Sebastian didn't figure out what _nice stuff_ he wanted to say yet cause he wasn't so good at this whole 'being a nice guy' thing. But he did know that whatever _nice thing_ he was going to say, he was going to mean it.

"Hey," Sebastian said, inching in closer towards the door. "I…" he got lost. "Have a good week, okay?"

Dave chuckled, like this was the funniest thing that Sebastian could ever say. "You too, buddy."

Sebastian's heart felt heavier when Dave slammed the door in his face. That fixed… absolutely _nothing_.

He walked back to his car. It was hot as balls outside, the kind that made him look over his jeans to make sure his ass and balls wasn't sweating. Last thing Sebastian needed was to look like he pissed himself. Yeah, that would seal this 'sweet' moment. Sebastian couldn't believe that he failed being nice to the gay guy that he called 'about a hundred pounds overweight' before he made fun of his waxed eyebrows and told him to stay in the closet.

Then again, was Sebastian _really_ expecting something different this time? Was he expecting to one day wake up and be anything like his beautiful sweet little sister, Lena, or be the nice lady that his mother was?

Sebastian was frustrated. He drove for an hour to get here on a day right before his history exam, and it didn't help.

During the drive back home, Sebastian nearly kept nodding off at the red lights. He barely got any sleep last night. Sebastian himself hadn't had sex in months. He hadn't been to Scandals in weeks. Sebastian wasn't even interested in getting a hook-up anymore. Great. More time to study for his history test tomorrow, right? _Yeah, right._

Sebastian didn't even know how he made it home without totalling his battered Bentley.

He fumbled with his keys, walked in with his shoes on and then promptly tried to dash for his room.

The hallow feeling in his stomach started to claw at him. He collapsed on his bed, threw his shoes at the side of his room and then buried his head into his pillow. What did _nice_ guys do when they were feeling crappy?

Sebastian felt like tearing down others so he could feel better about himself wasn't really an option here.

They talked to… _friends_ , right? Right. Right. Sebastian had friends. This was going to be okay.

Sebastian spent the next hour calling every Warbler he had on his contact list. That didn't work out so well.

With the April-May exam seasons looming over the Warbler's head, the only conversation that the Warblers were interested in having was _"What's Going to Happen to Me" (If I Don't Keep My Straight-A Track Record.)_

Whenever Sebastian tried to say that he needed to tell them something important, they told him to wait until the month was over. That made Sebastian's blood boil because he bet if it was any other Warbler other than him, most of them would be dropping textbooks and arranging Lima Bean coffee dates as a 'well-needed study break.' The realisation of that made Sebastian's shoulders slump in defeat. What? He was going to go from being an asshole to being a fucking reject? Being rejected in everything was the reason he became an asshole in the first fucking place.

Sebastian was frustrated. Everyone had this idea that that Warblers were these _super nice_ people.

Yeah, maybe to each other, and maybe to Blaine, but otherwise, he was nobody to them. Sebastian could kill himself tomorrow, and sure, they will feel bad. By next year, he would be history (pun unintended. History. History exam. Right.) If he was going to pick someone he knew that would feel _really_ feel bad about Sebastian splaying his brains out, he'd honestly put his money on Kurt Hummel.

When he was done annoying the Warblers, he called every guy on the lacrosse team.

That didn't work out so well, but Sebastian didn't really expect them to give a shit. Everyone had their all-important, death-defying exams to study for anyway. They told him to buzz off and study before he failed the whole damn year. They said it 'nicely,' but what did it matter? They were still telling him to get off the damn phone and stick his nose in a copy of _World_ _History for Dummies_.

Sebastian kicked his blankets aside, and picked up his notebook for history, flipping through his pristine notes.

Was that surprising? That Sebastian actually had pristine notes? That Sebastian actually _studied?_ But that was impossible! A week ago, he didn't know that he even took calculus! Right.

In all seriousness, Sebastian was going to have a talk with the principal about the fact that he had a calculus exam when he didn't even fucking know he took calculus. Because Sebastian was looking through his curriculum papers all week and he was _not_ registered for that class. Still, he was sent a fucking email saying he had to be in that hall or he was being thrown out of the damn school. And he had _other_ exams to worry about, so he couldn't exactly 'set this straight' (not that anything about him was straight. Ha.) He couldn't focus on that _now_.

Sebastian was too busy contemplating about what happened with Dave Karofsky.

The Warbler's had a fun time, watching his face pale when he heard about that calculus exam. Sebastian might've broke a vase and torn a few bits of sheet music when he heard about it the first time. And the Warblers just stood there. None of them were surprised. Come on. Sebastian Smythe didn't know that he was taking a calculus class? That wasn't surprising. Kurt Hummel didn't know he was taking a calculus class? It was discrimination! It happened because Kurt was _gay_. Whenever the universe did not come up all glittery roses and chocolate buttons for Kurt, it was _because he was gay_. Whenever something happened to Sebastian, it was just a consequence of being an asshole. That was how Dalton saw it. They would never say it like that, but Sebastian knew what they saw when they looked at him. Just another entitled rich kid that thought his life was miserable. If anything bad actually happened to him, Sebastian would definitely tell them straight up. He would make sure that everyone knew how tragic and sad his life was.

Sebastian grabbed his notebook, tucking it under his arm and thought of going to the Lima Bean to talk it out with… _somebody_ about this. Because he _wanted_ to be nice. But right now, there were little cracks in his poorly constructed _'sort of a nice guy'_ mask. And Sebastian didn't know how long he could wear it before his face melted off.


	4. Chapter 4

**hey, guys. i'm done with my finals for my rotation and starting my new one tomorrow, so i have this little space to update. :)**

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Four

* * *

Kurt Hummel was staring at his polished application for NYADA. He had looked over it so many times that the words started to look like they were written in Klingon. Plus, his hands were shaking so it was getting hard to actually _read_ it on any accord. He took a deep breath and just assumed that the first forty-one times he reread it was enough.

His application was _done_. Finished. This was the end of the disquieting application saga.

Kurt slowly placed it back into his crimson red folder, and let his shoulders slump in a feeling of semi-contentment. This felt like an accomplishment. Now, all he had to do was send it. And then dance around a roaring fire every night in hopes that a deity he didn't believe in would suddenly grant him his greatest wish for this month.

Something _impossible_ had to happen this month. Kurt wanted to finish high school with a high note (pun intended).

He didn't care if this meant him getting an audition for NYADA. Or if it meant seeing a quadruple rainbow that would point him to the direction of his life's real purpose. He was just ready for something magical to happen.

Today, Kurt was sitting in the Lima Bean by himself. He also decided that he seriously needed to cut down on his coffee expenditure. He was eyeing up the overpriced water bottles on the counter, but he hated people that bought overpriced water in a coffee shop when they could have a cup of warm, creamy _coffee_ instead. But Kurt wasn't allowed coffee this week. At least, not if he was paying it with his own _(rapidly diminishing)_ allowance.

The universe had to be listening because a tall glass filled with sweet, luxurious coffee was shoved in front of him. There was enough whipping cream, sprinkles and cocoa dusted on top there to make Kurt's pants feel tighter. This was _exactly_ what he needed but don't ever let Rachel hear that because they were supposed to be on diets.

It wasn't Kurt's fault. The universe wanted him to get fat. It was written in full-fat dairy products!

"A thank you would be appreciated, Hummel," Kurt knew that _voice_ anywhere.

"If this is one of your _tricks_ , Sebastian…" Kurt didn't even bother looking up as he placed his shiny folder in his backpack before Sebastian made fun of his life plans by reminding him that he was more likely to magically morph into a straight man than he was to get into a demanding university in New York. "Thank you."

Somehow, Kurt felt more like he was accepting a drink at a bar rather than an innocuous coffee. That, and there was no way that Kurt knew how to consume whipped cream without accidentally looking seductive.

"Me? Tricks?" Sebastian reiterated. "What kind of trick are we talking here? I can do a lot with just a button and a packet of Splenda. Of course, nothing baby Hummel rated, so _you_ need your parents' permission to see it."

Kurt's smile dropped. He did not want to bother looking up to actually _see_ Sebastian Smythe.

"What are you doing here, Sebastian?" Kurt zipped his bag up and finally decided to look up. He felt his heart stop.

Suddenly, the _BUMU_ Facebook group posts started to swirl into his head. He clearly remembered the eating disorder jibe they made weeks ago. Some part of Kurt consciously assumed that they'd photoshopped that picture, or the angle was particularly unflattering. This was because Kurt knew they seemed to take the most unflattering photos of him.

One of them made it look like Kurt had cankles! _Hello_. Did anyone see his feet? Kurt could be a foot model.

Sure, Kurt told Blaine that he thought that Sebastian had a problem with food, but that was not based on the picture. It was because Sebastian seemed to exist solely on alcoholic beverages and coffee. Was that _not_ a recipe for drunkorexia?

"Can't an old friend pay for your coffee?" Sebastian smirked, as he sat down. Kurt watched him roll up his sleeves.

 _Pull them down! Nobody wants to see your bony elbows!_ Kurt wanted to say, but only said, "You're hardly a friend."

"Whatever," Sebastian leaned back against his chair. He looked amused, but then that amusement faded away. Sebastian started to look… serious instead? Kurt had to rub his eyes just to make sure, but yes, Sebastian looked deadly serious. Okay, what was the punchline here?

"Hey," Sebastian called out and looked like he was either about to have a mental breakdown or cry. Kurt was not ready for this. He did not know how to comfort a misogynistic bully. "You got a second?"

"No," Kurt said, but Sebastian continued to talk anyway. "I actually have to—"

"Dave Karofsky? I told him he's fat and needs to stop waxing his eyebrows. And that he should stay in the closet. You know, before he tried to off himself," Sebastian was saying _words_ , but they weren't percolating through Kurt's head because they were not an insult about his clothing or a threat towards the New Directions. "I—"

"I can't believe this," Kurt was rubbing his temple. The thought of Sebastian telling someone to stay in the closet infuriated him. He couldn't manage to keep his cool, no matter how sorry he felt like for the Warbler. And Kurt didn't feel sorry for Sebastian at all. "Sebastian, do you have _any idea_ how to be a decent human being?"

Sebastian looked shocked. "What the fuck?" his shock turned into offence. "I'm trying to be nice here!"

"And you're doing great!" Kurt said sarcastically. "You, a gay man that knows how difficult it is to be gay in this society, told another gay man to 'stay in the closet'? After you insulted his appearance… _Bravo_ , Sebastian!"

"Fuck off!" Sebastian stood up, clutching a giant history book under his arm.

"I always think that there's some sort of hidden shred of decorum in you, Sebastian," Kurt said in a very solemn voice. "But every time I talk to you, I remain surprised by your ignorance. You are the worst person that I know. If there is anyone there in the world that is currently ripping themselves to shred over the fact that they didn't notice your weight dropping to dangerous levels, I feel bad for them." Kurt stood up and looked directly into those hard, sea-green eyes. "Speaking of which, you should really come clean, Sebastian… _What combination of drugs are you using?"_

Sebastian's eyes went wild. His lip twitched.

"Is poor little Sebastian having nightmares about the sugar in the slushy that he hit my boyfriend with?" Kurt moved closer to him. The table shifted slightly, whipped cream and coffee splashing in all directions. "Or are did the myriad of men that you're sleeping with suggest that you indulge their twelve-year-old boy fetish?"

Kurt didn't expect the reaction that he received. Sebastian feigned tripping (it was just an accident! He could swear it all he wanted but Kurt knew it wasn't) and doused Kurt with lukewarm coffee and whipped cream.

Kurt stood up, letting out a yelp. His-his application! His clothes! His dignity! _WET!_

"I'm so sorry!" called out Sebastian in a loud, _fake-fake-fake_ tone of voice. Kurt wondered if this was what his mother was subjected to hearing every day. "Are you okay? I'll go get a box of tissues or—wow, I'm so uncoordinated!"

Kurt's blood was boiling. He was surprised the coffee and cream didn't evapourate off his skin from the sheer level of anger contained behind his milky white skin. He threw his backpack over his shoulder, his hands shaking.

He pushed past Sebastian, storming out of the coffee shop.

Kurt felt like crumbling but he tried to ignore it. He tried to ignore all of it. He was going to see things that Sebastian couldn't even possibly _dream of_ , much less live through. He didn't care about how humiliated he felt like, being covered in coffee. He didn't want to think about how, even after the sea salt slushy incident, Sebastian continued to love to throw beverages of various temperatures on people. _Despite_ the outcome of the last time that this had happened. Kurt hated him he hated him he hated him… he _HATED_ Sebastian Smythe!

He saw that Blaine had just parked his car. He forgot that Blaine wanted to come over after his big family lunch that Blaine had to attend to. He'd bombarded him with so many apologises and notes that Kurt felt his heart warm.

Blaine ran immediately to him, his face filled with concern. "What happened?"

" _Sebastian Smythe_ happened," Kurt replied almost instantaneously. His voice was wavering, and there were hot tears burning into his soft, baby-blue eyes. "I'm done, Blaine. I want to go home."

"This is it," Blaine placed a hand on Kurt's shoulder. "He said he'd stop this."

"Blaine, it's just coffee. It's not even hot. I want to go home," Kurt felt defeated, but he also felt a little happy knowing that Blaine wanted to jump to his defence. He half-wanted to tell him to go and put that super-secret Dalton fight club training into action… and snap Sebastian's spine. "I'll call you when I get there."

"Okay," Blaine decided. "I'll call his mother and tell him. He just—he _can't_ do this anymore."

" _We'll_ call his mother," Kurt felt a lot better just knowing he wasn't going home alone. He straightened his back, and felt like he could see things clearly now. And _smell_ them… apparently, Sebastian had ordered him a latte. How nice!


	5. Chapter 5

_and so the plan is hatched... there is a bigger background story as well to why Lena and his mother believed Blaine and Kurt so immediately as well and it's related to what happened in France. it's very subtly mentioned here, but it will be divulged in at some point. i also want to apologise for how long this took... it's been a busy few weeks irl._

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Five

* * *

 _So much for being nice_ , thought Sebastian, as he walked inside his house. He placed a 2% milk jug on the counter.

Sebastian didn't even get to get out of the kitchen before he was being pushed down into the ground by Lena. She was shorter than him, but she was bigger than him. Her curly jet-black hair and her freckled fist was all he could see for about five minutes, as she reminded him how much she loved him by repeatedly slamming her fist into his face and screaming profanities he didn't even know Lena knew.

 _"I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU! I HATE YOU!"_ Lena screamed out, tears running down her cheeks. Every now and then, she let out sobs that made his heart sink lower in his stomach. He may have swallowed a tooth.

Sebastian let his body sag and then took a deep breath, swallowing his own blood. What the fuck was the nice guy thing to do when a _girl_ hit him? He knew that hitting her back was not an option. Even his asshole self knew this.

Lena pulled away from him, her hands shaking.

Sebastian looked up at her. He kept his mouth clamped shut, because if he didn't, he was sure the first thing that was going to come out of his mouth would be an insensitive, highly inappropriate comment. But she just beat him up for no fucking reason at all. How the hell was he supposed to react to this?

"When were you going to let us know that you're a disgusting asshole that pushes other people for fun?" Lena asked hotly. "Or when were you going to come out to our mother? I thought she knew! _I_ knew that you were gay! And what about the fact that you hurt a kid so bad that he needed _eye surgery?_ Or the fact that you humiliated his boyfriend in a coffee shop yesterday? And that you- _you drove a kid to kill himself!_ What is _wrong with you_ , Sebastian?"

Sebastian got up from the ground, his heart beating loudly. He ached, and his face and jaw were throbbing.

"Who told you that?" Sebastian asked, raising an eyebrow. He sounded funny. " _Who_ told you?"

Man, even his teeth hurt. All he could taste was blood and disappointment. Edgy.

"These-these _two boys..._ Kurt and Blaine I think _,_ " Lena said, her hands shaking.

Fortunately, Sebastian had prepared for this. Hey. He saw what not preparing for your own downfall lead to. Sebastian wasn't about to quit anytime soon. For months after the sea salt slushy incident, he had been practicing possible scenarios where his family found out about his double life. Gay and Gayest didn't have any proof. If they did, Lena would've mentioned it. No tape, no fake ID, not even coffee-stained clothes by the sounds of things. They were just saying stuff. Stuff that he could say were not true. That was easy... Problem solved. Nobody had to know.

"They-they came and... and they told us," Lena continued, noticing his silence. "And mom, she packed her bags and just left to see Aunt Dinah for a little while. She... she's afraid you're going to be like dad."

The fuck? His mom just packed her bags up the minute she heard that he was a possible reincarnation of the husband that used to beat her up? Man, Sebastian was so flattered here. He didn't even get a chance to say anything to defend himself. Well, it was partially true, but his mother and Lena didn't know that.

"I'm not," Sebastian said, his voice serene and petal-soft. "Look. _I_ didn't do anything."

Lena was sniffling, as he calmly moved to grab a box of tissues. Why the hell was she crying for? He was the one that got his ass kicked! Sebastian tried to breathe deeply. He _had_ to play the nice guy here. Lena still looked like she believed him, or at least that she _wanted_ to believe him. If he started being defensive, she'd know something was up.

"You... you didn't?" Lena asked, looking up at him like she just saw him for the first time.

Gee, yes, Sherlock. Not every random pair of strangers that come to your house are saying the truth. He got that Blaine knew where his house was, so that was how they found this house. Now, why the hell did his mother and sister let them in anyway? Did they see Hummel and figure out that he had a glitter-related degenerative disease of the dick? It was terminal. He'd end up with a cunt in a no time… And his mother believed them on just words alone. Come fucking on. How gullible were they? No wonder his father got them doing his shit for months. All he had to do was say the right words in the right order and they'd suddenly believe he was writing the damn Bible.

It did hurt though. It hurt like hell. This was his mother and sister. His family. They should've at least _pretended_ to consider the alternative: that the Gay Float Rejects were lying straight through their pretty little Givenchy scarves.

"I'm not a shady comic book villain, Lee," Sebastian pressed a bunch of tissues to his aching, bleeding mouth and with a muffled voice, added on: "Come on. You know better."

She ran her hand through her hair, body still trembling. "You have to—you have to tell mom. _She_ thinks that... _I_ thought that..." Lena shook her head. If she had a mental breakdown, he wasn't going to pretend to care. He decided. She _hit_ him because of what a few guys in Hello Kitty bondage gear said. That was the most pathetic thing he had witnessed this whole week. "I didn't...I don't know why I believed and—mom, it's about France. I know... _Seb_."

She wrapped her arms around him and Sebastian debated on whether he should actually, you know, touch her. He didn't want to, but he thought it would be more credible if he hugged her back. So, he did. _You believed a pair of fucking strangers?_ Sebastian thought. _Even_ I'd _give you the benefit of the fucking doubt here. And I'm an asshole. Looks like I'm the one that finds out more about_ you _than you do about me today._ And Sebastian hadn't even mentioned how irresponsible his mother was for leaving him with his twenty-one-year-old college drop-out sister. The one that didn't know how to tell a guy to use a condom so she used birth control instead, and then bitched about it. No, Sebastian was not sorry for her.

"God, Lena, you fucking punched me in the face and _made me lose teeth_ ," Sebastian said, and then squeezed her tightly.

He was going to fucking burn that bitch's Senna tablets and cover all her underwear with Nutella for when her glorious, shiny pretty Ken-doll boyfriend came over. Bitch fucking deserved it for breaking his face in. He was going to find his mother's favourite dress and cut it up until it was in little pieces. Hell, he was going to find her _wedding dress_ and tear it up. And blame it on the neighbour's dog because once, that little piece of shit peed on Sebastian's favourite black loafers. Everyone was paying for everything. He was _done_ being nice.

"I'm sorry," she said, still fucking shaking. Sebastian tried to suppress the urge to ask her she was having a seizure or something. "I'm sorry. I just... _mom left_."

"I'll give her a few hours to calm down," Sebastian offered a weak smile. "Then I'll talk to her. Deal?"

A few hours were enough time for him to find a way to fuck up Kurt and Blaine's lives. Blaine was cute, but he wasn't _that_ cute, so there was no way that he was letting Blaine off for this. He'd tear them glittery limb from limb, and paint the walls of his tacky blue-coloured room with their rainbow-y insides if it killed him.

Lena nodded her head. "I'm sorry for hitting you, Seb," she said, crying. Great. "You must think-think that I'm this terrible person… that _mom_ is this terrible person, but you know how she was like with our dad. I think just the thought of you being like that scared her so much that she just..." She cried harder. And into his shirt, too.

A wet t-shirt and a bleeding mouth. How lucky was he!

"Hey, hey," Sebastian pulled her away, as she was sniffling. "No harm done, okay? I'm not bleeding anymore. I'll talk to mom today. I'll go upstairs, get cleaned up a little, make sure I didn't lose a tooth and go to Aunt Dinah's. Straighten this whole thing out. Alright?"

She nodded her head mutely. What the hell was he comforting her for? She was the one that beat _him_ up.

Sebastian ran upstairs. He took a shower and made sure he wasn't bleeding anymore. As he was doing that, he plotted his revenge. Sebastian couldn't quite come up with anything gory enough and even the good ideas didn't sound so hot anymore. He wanted to do something that he had never done before. He was done with these baby games.

Sebastian walked into his room after his shower, throwing his towel away and then looked at himself in the mirror. Fuck. He looked gross and his stomach was caving in. This was not exactly a look he was going for. If he lost any more weight, Sebastian wasn't sure what fucking size he was supposed to get. All his new clothes had stains, or rips because he was reduced to buying stuff from thrift stores. Sebastian did not plan on staying at this infantile weight for long. Especially not with a Facebook group bitching at him for his supposed fatal eating disorder that apparently nobody gave a shit about. It wasn't his fault that nearly blinding the love of your life was really an appetite killer. Sebastian had to force himself to eat and when he did, he ate fattening shit so he wouldn't lose anymore.

As he changed into a pair of sweatpants, Sebastian paused to think… Sure, _he_ knew that he didn't have an eating disorder but nobody else knew this. But imagine how pathetically guilty they'd be if he said that he did?

He smirked as he thought about it. Yeah. It wasn't morally sound, but that wasn't what he was going for.

Everyone that didn't inquire about his obvious, life-threatening eating disorder would feel like they were a piece of shit. That, to Sebastian, was a nice thought. And Kurt and Blaine? Well, they'd obviously feel bad. Them not noticing how 'terribly afflicted' Sebastian was. He really didn't mean to throw that coffee. _He had a mental problem_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Eat Your Words**

Chapter Six

* * *

"Trent, I'm not feeding you guys' little Facebook group obsession," Blaine promptly told the fellow Warbler over the phone. As he said this, he opened the Facebook page. "Can't you leave Sebastian alone?"

"I'm not the one that talked to his mother," reminded Trent. As if Blaine could ever forget.

"Kurt did most of the talking," Blaine rationalised, but his cheeks were red and hot. The conversation that Blaine had with Sebastian's sweet, china-doll mother was replaying in his head for ages now. It killed him to tell her that her precious little boy was a bully that sent Blaine dick pictures regularly. "Do you guys have a specific notification alert for the group? Because Kurt does. Which I think is _ridiculous_."

"No, we don't," Trent replied. "How can I make a notification alert _just_ for that group?"

Blaine groaned. Trent laughed and asked, "Are you on Facebook yet?"

"Yeah, I am," Blaine rolled his eyes, realising that the Facebook group were now back to posting _Before_ and _After_ pictures. They did one with Mercedes before, where they photoshopped every ounce of fat on her until she looked something like Kurt would eat if it was covered in enough fat-free dressing.

The latest one was of Sebastian. The _Before_ picture almost looked legitimate, with a date and time stamp. Blaine had to squint his eyes to attempt to find Sebastian buried in folds of white, freckled fat. Not to mention the fact that Sebastian was in _pink_. And _glitter_. Blaine's French was fuzzy, but Sebastian was holding what he deciphered as a show choir award. The _After_ picture Blane recognised as a recent photograph from a charity event the Warblers hosted a few days before the exam season swamped them. Sebastian, in his oversized Dalton uniform, was stood next to Jeff Sterling. Sebastian looked about half of Jeff's size. And Jeff was one of the skinniest Warblers.

"I don't want to read this caption," Blaine didn't want to know how many insults they managed to say in one caption.

"You're reading it anyway, aren't you?" Trent asked.

"No, I'm not," Blaine said, as he read it. His hazel eyes were practically glued to the screen by the last sentence.

 _'A faithful reader submitted an old photograph of Sebastian Smythe. If you don't recognise him, it's because this is Sebastian as our little French fourteen-year-old obviously indulging readily in his closeted doughnut addiction. Unfortunately, when he failed to fit into his posh king-sized bed, Sebastian decided that enough was enough and went on a diet of coffee and alcohol. His exercise went from lifting chocolate bars to his mouth to hours upon hours of lacrosse. Sebastian has lost a lot in those two years—and we're not talking about his weight at all! How's the preparation for Nationals going, Mr Smythe?'_

Blaine's head was pounding. He didn't know if it was because he hadn't fully taken in the image of Full-Fat Sebastian standing next to Fat-Free Sebastian. He was hoping that this was as fake as the Mercedes post. Or the Rachel post.

Or the post where they turned Kurt 'into a man'—

"Blaine? Are you there?" Trent's voice brought him back to reality.

"I read it," Blaine didn't know he'd been holding his breath until he then. Apparently, oxygen was important for his brain functioning. "Trent... _what is this?_ "

Trent was obviously entertained. "That's what Jeff said. Oh, and—… Blaine? Are you there? I hear typing."

"I'm Googling this right now! If it's all Photoshop, I'm going to-going to write them a mean comment!" Blaine turned into another tab and wrote Sebastian's full name. He found videos of Fat Sebastian singing in about two seconds. Blaine felt his brain matter melt. "God... Trent, Trent, it's not fake. He _actually_ used to look like that—that was like two years ago. How did he lose _that much weight?_ "

Blaine could hear Trent's feet shuffle. "Diet and exercise I think. I've seen him eat before."

Blaine chuckled. Kurt wouldn't believe Trent if there was no photographic evidence. Kurt was almost sure that Sebastian got his calorific nutrition from air and alcoholic beverages alone.

"It's amazing, Blaine. _Everything_ he eats is healthy," Trent gushed. "He doesn't even drink as much as he lets on. He has a special measuring cylinder for his booze. You know, like the ones that people use in labs."

"Really?" Blaine was really surprised by that. He always assumed Sebastian was naturally skinny and ate like crap. He could effortlessly imagine Skinny Sebastian cramming his face of doughnuts. "Do you think I can seductively ask Sebastian to show me his Courvoisier measuring cylinder or do you think it's too much for a first date?"

Trent laughed. It made Blaine feel warm and gooey, like the brownie he had after dinner last night.

"I have pictures," Trent admitted. "Sebastian used to room in with me before his mother and sister moved here from France. I'm uploading right now on Facebook chat right now."

"You do? Wow, that's amazing! Just... just don't send it to the evil Facebook group," Blaine shuddered at the thought of the _BUMU_ Facebook group receiving a picture of Sebastian expertly measuring out his alcohol with safety goggles and giant gloves. "I'm scared that they'll write stuff about how Sebastian obviously also does at-home liposuction."

Trent's pictures showed up in his inbox and Blaine wasted no time in downloading them.

Blaine greedily lapped up the photos of Sebastian with his alcohol cylinder. Sebastian eating his what looked like a quinoa salad whilst studying. Sebastian holding the biggest sweet potato Blaine had ever seen. Sebastian sitting in the bed, with a giant bag of fat-free popcorn, a bag of dried mangoes, and a 90% Lindt cocoa chocolate bar. He had a takeaway box with what looked like to be soba noodles with more edamame and spinach than soba noodles.

Wow. For a moment, Blaine tried to imagine taking Sebastian out and Sebastian ordering a salad. Somehow, he just couldn't envision it. He always thought that Sebastian would order some mega-giant-burger with extra bacon.

"Hey," Trent's voice went from light to serious. "Do you think he has an actual problem?"

"You used to room in with him. If you don't think it's an issue, it's probably not an issue," Blaine pointed out, and then nearly died when he saw a photograph of Sebastian holding a carton of soy milk. He had never seen anyone so happy over non-dairy milk before. Blaine felt like he cracked the code to Sebastian's coffee order. "I think that you're right. He's probably just super healthy and beyond active. I think he may have just overdone it a little."

"Yeah," Trent didn't sound convinced. "That's what the rest of the Warblers think too—I mean the guy would actually pick off olives to eat when we used to bring in free pizza."

"Wow," Blaine was not convinced himself.

"But," Trent was shuffling again. He sounded nervous, "Do _you_ think that he has a problem beyond being ultra-super health-conscious so he doesn't end up big again?"

"No," Blaine lied. "But Kurt thinks he has a problem. This post is gonna make it worse."

Still, Blaine wondered how Sebastian kept on getting skinnier every time he looked at him. If he was eating regularly, what exactly was he eating? Only salad and bran flakes with water? Because Blaine always thought it was impossible for Sebastian to get any skinnier and the next time he'd see him, he'd somehow lost a _LOT_ more weight. What was he eating? Or _not_ eating? And how did Sebastian get away with it anyway? If Blaine skipped lunch, his mother would kill him. If he lost a ton of weight, his mother would feed him until he exploded. And then feed him some more after. If he continued to lose weight, she'd probably find a way to hook him to a feeding tube at home.

"I got to go," said Trent before adding on. "But Sebastian doesn't have a problem?"

"No, definitely not," replied Blaine, but he still doubted it. "Are you going to bring it up to the other Warblers?"

"I don't think so. The Warblers already know, and beyond the initial shock of 'Sebastian wasn't always as thin as his lacrosse stick', they don't seem to think it's a problem," Trent replied.

Blaine nodded his head. "That's good," Blaine then sent Kurt all the photographs of Sebastian he had.

"I'll see you around, Blaine, okay?" Trent sounded tired. He probably should rest up. The exams were probably taking it out of them. Fortunately, McKinley ended in June, so Blaine wouldn't have to worry about exams until later.

Blaine said his goodbyes, and almost as immediately as he put down his phone, he received another call from Kurt.

"I didn't know you knew I was having a panic attack about the fact that I just told Sebastian's mother all about how cold her son is," Kurt said. "The photos helped me calm down. Somehow, it's never entered my head that Sebastian might just be one of those crazy health freaks. He probably swapped something healthy but calorific for something that isn't and ended up losing a lot of weight. Or he went Paleo," Kurt sounded convinced that Sebastian was okay now too, but why didn't Blaine? Maybe because going Paleo didn't explain why Sebastian looked like he had to buy his clothes from the children's section. "Blaine, did you see their new Rachel post…? It's— _it's awful!_ "


	7. Chapter 7

**i literally just found time to update this morning, so i will not say much but to RealityXIllusion, yes, he definitely does end up developing an eating disorder. in fact, i think it's obvious that his eating habits aren't even normal to begin with even though he thinks they are. **

* * *

**Eat Your Words**

Chapter Seven

* * *

 _'A faithful reader submitted an old photograph of Sebastian Smythe.'_

Sebastian wanted to know who that 'faithful' bastard was, because he was going to kill him. Sebastian thought that threatening most students in his old French school would be enough to keep his, _err_ — _full_ past under wraps but _no_ , apparently, it wasn't. Sebastian's hot-red face was sticky with sweat. Great. _Fucking great_.

Now everyone knew that Sebastian was naturally a tub of lard.

Twenty-four hours ago, if you Googled Sebastian Smythe, you got jackshit. Maybe if you looked hard enough and were obsessed enough, you found out that he left his old school because 'he was being bullied.'

 _Yeah right_. Like anyone could pull one over on him without Sebastian biting their calorie-rich, low-protein faces off.

Right now, if you Googled Sebastian Smythe, you got a dozen clips and glossy photos of Fat Sebastian, glossier photos of Skinny Sebastian, various articles inquiring about whether Sebastian had a gastric bypass to lose the weight ( _fuck off_ , Sebastian thought angrily. _I got this weight off fair and fucking square by eating salad with no dressing and running my ass off for months_ ), if he was a diet pill abuser or if he just plain starved himself silly and threw up water ten times a day.

If there was any bone in his body that felt bad for deciding to fake an eating disorder, it had now certainly been broken, smashed and dissolved into his hot, boiling blood.

Sebastian was beyond furious. He wanted to show them all up. Make them all sorry. They'd think it was sad if they heard that Sebastian really did have an issue with feeding himself. Hell, he could say anything and spin it as true. Sebastian knew how to do that. He knew how to make himself sound like the victim of the century. He could say that ever since he was two, he demanded soy milk instead of the real deal and try and convince people he only gained weight because he had a medical condition that gave him the thyroid of a dead snail. _Ha_.

Sebastian looked through a few blogs, and felt himself choke when he realised people found dozens of photographs of him shirtless or in awful boxer shorts. And they didn't just post them straight up. No… they _shopped_ them. Now, Sebastian looked like he was this emaciated little tiny male fucking show choir model.

Sebastian was everywhere on the internet now. With the very real anatomy of a _Tim Burton_ character.

He felt sick momentarily, and then felt his hands shake with shock, anger, disgust and ridicule. Sebastian ran to his mother's room, and leafed through her medicine cabinet.

Sebastian shoved in a bunch of prescribed diuretics and mild, syrupy laxatives into his mouth as quickly as possible. He knew he took way too much for a guy that was just taking his first dose of stuff he didn't need. Whatever.

He walked out of his mother's room and upon entering his room, impulsively grabbed his big, shiny digital camera. Sebastian unbuttoned his shirt, and stood by the mirror. He hadn't even lost lots of water weight yet, and he looked like shit. Sebastian hated everything about the way he looked—from his emerging spine to his prominent ribs and poke-your-eye-out hipbones. Sebastian sucked in as much as he could, and flinched when he caught sight of himself. Gross. Gross. _Gross_. Sebastian sucked in again, and took the most attention-seeking photographs in history. He took ones of him naturally standing and ones of him without any photo tricks just for kicks.

After he was done, Sebastian flipped through them. Every picture made him feel sicker. Even the ones where he wasn't sucking in looked disgusting. Did he really get _that_ skinny? How the fuck was anyone okay with this?

If Hummel lost half his legs, even Sebastian would be concerned. And he was an asshole.

How come these people— _nice_ _people_ —didn't seem to give a shit about him? How could his own damn mother let him walk around looking like this? She didn't even talk to him about it. Apparently, changing his wardrobe didn't give neither his mother or Lena enough of a clue that it was a real damn problem. Sebastian bet if Hummel lost half a pound, his father would be bitching at him to eat more. Everyone would. _Typical_.

Sure. Sebastian didn't actually puke up his food or anything. He just wasn't hungry anymore. His diet was primarily comprised of coffee and foods he would ordinarily never touch unless he was being brutally tortured. Yesterday, after not eating for most of the day, Sebastian ordered himself a giant slice of walnut-banana bread from a posh café because he was sick of making new notches on his belt. After he finished it, he felt like a gross fat fuck. All those _carbs_. All those _sugars_. It was enough to make even him, Skinny McBones, feel repulsed.

It took him approximately twenty-four hours (most of it in the bathroom with the absolute worst cramps in his life) to get him another set of mirror photos. These were obviously ten times worse because Sebastian was so dehydrated he was seeing stars. It was a miracle he could keep his hands steady enough to take a good series of photos.

After Sebastian took his succession of photographs, he dropped his camera onto the ground and lost consciousness.

By the time he woke up, Sebastian realised that he was in a hospital bed.

Beside him was an unhappy-looking Lena and his shocked and scared mother. Sebastian wanted to spit at them. _Look at what the fuck_ you _did. I thought you were supposed to be nice, assholes_ , but nothing was coming out of his mouth.

Sebastian looked down and realised he was in an oversized hospital gown, and that his arms were hooked to an IV line. Probably because he had as much water as a prune after all the water pills and laxatives he took. Great. And he had a fucking art exam tomorrow. He hadn't even really finalised the designs that he wanted to do. It was some rainbow over the bridge gay bollocks that he knew his professor would like because he knew that Sebastian was gay. And he _loved_ it when Sebastian talked about liking to suck dick for some reason.

Sebastian blinked a few times, his ass was burning. He'd tell that to the nurse, but you know, he had a shard of dignity.

"Sebastian?" Lena moved closer to him. His twenty-one-year-old sister smelled like wet dog and Sebastian moved away. Even he smelled better, and he spent most of his day on the porcelain throne yesterday. Speaking of which—in hindsight, he should've probably drunken more than half a mini container of water when he took enough shit (pun unintended) to dehydrate a camel. "You were out cold for _hours_. I—mom _and_ I—were so worried about you."

Sebastian blinked away, his eyes watering because they felt sore. And they felt like they'd been stung too.

"Sebastian," Nathalie moved so that she was placing a hand on his arm. "How could you be so _stupid?_ "

He cocked his head to one side, trying not to smirk. He didn't plan on blacking out, but hey, this was perfect. Sebastian could now tell his doctor that he'd been puking up food, get his super sad eating disorder diagnosis, and go home so that he could tell that Facebook group that they shouldn't be pushing around a kid with real mental issues.

"If you had problems going to the bathroom, you probably should've told us instead of taking a whole bunch of pills and getting yourself sick," Lena added on, crossing her arms. "I talked it out with mom, by the way. I told her about the fact that those guys weren't saying the truth. I just… I _know_ that she's sorry, okay? I—"

Sebastian hadn't processed the fact that his mother was sorry, just the fact that they thought that he took a dozen water pills, and a dozen fucking laxatives because he was a 'little backed up.' His family was a nightmare.

"I probably shouldn't have believed them," his mother said, but the words weren't really percolating through Sebastian's big, fat head. She pulled up Sebastian's chin and pressed her lips against his forehead. "They were very convincing… those boys. They seemed so serious. I thought that their stories couldn't be anything but real! Where else would they get so much detail? And just the thought of you being anything like your father scared me so much that I just… I needed a little time to myself. Honestly, I was on my way home when Lena called me and told me that she throttled you until you bled and you—you took all those pills because you've been having tummy troubles! Really…? I don't know how you made such a mess of things in two hours! Really, Sebastian?"

Sebastian paused, and just stared at his mother. At this point, he lost all the respect he had for her. How _stupid_ did she think he was? And he was expected to be okay with all this? Everything was okay now?

His lip trembled, and he found himself angry. He wanted her to hurt. Even her just standing there, stroking her hair and telling him how much she loved him, Sebastian felt angry. He tossed a look over at Lena, who was busy texting.

He _hated_ his mother. He hated his mother for not leaving his father when that asshole was not just beating her up, but beating her kids up. He hated that she took him downstairs, shoved him in front of the television with a giant plastic bag of Hershey's chocolate bars, salted Kettle Chips and a home takeout menu. He was promised he could order whatever he wanted as long as he didn't go upstairs, where they were fighting— _again_. Sebastian swallowed his food like it was some sort of comforting medicine because she wasn't there. By the time he heard his mother screaming, Sebastian placed his hands onto his ears and then tried to bury his head into his favourite half-gallon tub of ice-cream. The same tub of ice-cream didn't comfort him when he was the slowest kid running in the class, and little boys stuck pizza slices inside his gym bag. Did you ever have a four-day slice of pizza in your gym bag? It wasn't fucking fun.

When his mother and sister were downstairs getting them food, Sebastian grabbed one of the nurses, feigned his best crying face and then said: "I don't eat no more. People say I may have some eating disorder whatever thing, but nobody cares enough to even _ask_ if I'm doing okay. I wanted to be nice, okay? I tried to be nice, but I got so fucking alone and nobody's helping me with nothing and… I just want to _die_ , okay? _I wanna die_." The horrifying thing was, the minute he said those words, Sebastian realised that it was the most truthful thing he said in years.


	8. Chapter 8

**Eat Your Words**

Chapter Eight

* * *

"That is _disgusting_ ," Kurt said to Mercedes, as they skimmed through a page where they'd obviously shopped Sebastian so that he looked like he weighed as much as a box of feathers. "I honestly feel bad for him."

"You feeling bad for Sebastian Smythe?" Mercedes stared at him with a hardened facial expression.

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "If this is another anecdote about how I try to save every gay guy in Ohio, then—"

"Is this because you totally told his mother that he was being a big, fat bully? Because that's his fault," Mercedes explained. Like Kurt wanted to talk about _that_ again. "Sebastian Smythe got what was coming to him. It's nobody's fault but his. If he wanted to keep his hands clean, he should've stopped playing dirty."

They were sitting on the pull-up couch in the living room. There was an enormous bowl of low-fat popcorn between them. In the background, _Legally Blonde_ was playing at a low volume.

Kurt was skimming through pages upon pages of photographs of Sebastian Smythe. The real ones made him pause and think most times, especially legitimate ones from his old French high school. The photoshopped ones generally repulsed him. They either tried to make him as big as possible, or as small as possible. It was sickening. What surprised Kurt was that some of the smaller photoshopped ones weren't _that_ far off the actual Sebastian.

"I wonder what kind of diet he's on," Kurt mused. "I'd love for him to give a few tips."

Mercedes rolled his eyes. "Kurt, the only weight you have to lose is the weight of your big, fat stubborn ass—"

Kurt sighed deeply. "I am not _that_ stubborn. I like to think I'm open-minded to plausible suggestions and—"

"— _you_ don't need to lose weight. Hell, I need to lose weight, and I'm going to eat pizza tonight," Mercedes continued. Kurt wanted to tell her that she didn't need to lose any weight and she was perfect, but before he could, she asked: "Did you order us a double-pepperoni, double-cheese? Because if you didn't, I'm gonna smack you."

"Didn't I tell you? Pizza with _meeeee_ is calorie- _freeeee_ ," Kurt said in a sing-song voice. "Mercedes, _of course_ , I did."

Kurt was very relaxed when he heard his phone ring. He frowned when he saw it was Nick Duval. He knew that the Warblers were gloomily prepping for their art exam tomorrow. Earlier today, Kurt caught sight of Jeff running outside of the Lima Bean with a giant box of cheap confetti. So, this unexpected call was really making Kurt's alarm bells ring. _I hope nothing happened to Blaine_ , Kurt immediately thought. _I hope nothing happened to Blaine_.

He answered the call with a cheery voice, "Hi, Nick!"

Nick didn't reply instantly. This was terrible.

"Nick?" Kurt's hand was shaking. _Blaine got into an accident. Blaine is in a coma. Blaine is dead. Blaine is cheating on you with Sebastian. Blaine is eating carbs even though he said that he'd diet with you. Of course, you're eating carbs tonight but—_

"Hi, Kurt," Nick's voice sounded low. "What are you doing?"

That was a weird. Here Kurt was assuming that something was wrong. Apparently, Nick just wanted to chat? Pre-exam 'how are you, Kurt? Please encourage me I can do great because I'm going to have a breakdown' chat?

"Honestly?" Kurt swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'm stalking Sebastian on the internet." He forced a laugh.

Nick didn't find this funny. "The guys here have been doing that too," he sounded so _serious_. "You should probably stop, Kurt. Everyone should stop." Kurt wanted to ask what was wrong but he also didn't want to be an asshole and rush him. "Just-just leave Sebastian alone, okay? Why can't everyone just _leave him alone?_ "

Kurt thought Nick was about to confess his undying love and loyalty to Sebastian. This didn't happen.

"Nick?" Kurt closed the tabs, because he did feel bad. Nick sounded like he was going to cry. "What happened?"

"Sebastian's in the hospital," Nick admitted. Kurt's laptop nearly fell off his lap. "I heard he overdosed on water pills and laxatives and he lost so much water that he just passed out."

Kurt felt very numb initially, then the feeling of guilt washed over him. "Is he okay?"

"I texted his sister, and she said that he was pretty okay," Nick replied.

"Oh, thank you, Nick," Kurt felt momentarily relief. Then, he felt horrible for letting Sebastian walk around with that too-thin body like nothing had changed. In fact, he made it worse by asking him _what combination of drugs he was on_. Oh, and telling his mother that her son was a big bully probably didn't help either. He should've stopped the minute he saw the look of horror on her face, but he didn't. Even when she was crying and sobbing, he continued to tell her about how her son slushied his boyfriend! Kurt breathed, calmly telling himself that regardless of any mental health problem Sebastian had, it didn't excuse his actions. Kurt was right to go to his mother and rat on him all he wanted.

Nick cleared his throat. "The Warblers are seeing him tomorrow after our art exam. I don't think Sebastian's going to show up for the exam, but— _um_ … are you coming with? I already talked to Blaine and he's coming. That is, if Sebastian doesn't convince his mother to discharge him."

"Yes, I'm coming if he's still in the hospital tomorrow," Kurt replied automatically. He didn't know if it was okay for Sebastian's family to discharge him. "I can't say I didn't notice this, but I'm still shocked."

"I always just thought he was extra healthy," Nick forced a laugh. "Do you think they'll get him help?"

Kurt thought the same too. A few days ago, Blaine had sent him old pictures of Sebastian eating salads and sweet potato and Kurt immediately dismissed the fact that Sebastian might have a problem with food. It made so much sense to him right then. Sebastian might've just accidentally ate in a deficit without realising. Filling up on only salad, and little bits of chicken… Sebastian must've been unintentionally undereating. But subconsciously, Kurt knew that if Sebastian really was eating healthfully, he would _look_ healthy. Sebastian looked like he was seriously sick.

"I hope so," Kurt said in a soft voice. "He was getting so thin. I don't understand… did you not talk to him?"

"I thought someone must've talked to him," Nick honestly confessed. "But nobody in the Warblers thought we should mention it. He seemed to be unhinged at times. I didn't want to say anything that'll risk my chance for another solo… that sounds so fucking selfish now. That I wouldn't ask him if he's doing okay, because I'm afraid he'd flip out and not give me another solo. Now, he's lying in a hospital bed because… well, I don't know anybody that _said anything_."

"You can't say that," Kurt tried to reason with him. "It could've still happened. Even if we said something."

"I'm sure," Nick snorted. "We _knew_ , Kurt. We knew that he barely ever ate because he was skinnier every time you saw him. If it was anyone else, we wouldn't have even let them lose the first five pounds… but it was _Sebastian_."

Kurt didn't know what to say to that. He couldn't comfort Nick anymore. He was feeling the same guilt.

Kurt asked him what time they were meeting up. Nick told him 'four', and Kurt thought that this was a good time. The minute he ended the call, Mercedes bombarded him with questions. Kurt answered them in a monotone voice.

"No!" Mercedes was in disbelief as he mentioned the overdose and pills. "Are you serious?"

Kurt nodded his head. "Yes," he barely believed it himself. Why was this so surprising? They _knew_.

"You're not blaming yourself for this, are you?" Mercedes gave him a pointed look. "Kurt, he dug his own grave. You can't keep blaming yourself for what he does and what he doesn't do. You are not responsible for his actions."

Kurt's throat felt sore. "My dad ate too much and had a heart attack. Are you saying _he_ dug his own grave?"

 _"NO!"_ Mercedes yelled. "And I don't see you feeling awful for not monitoring your dad's diet close enough."

"Because I did my best with dad. I tried," Kurt said with a watery voice. "Dave Karofsky just nearly died because I wouldn't pick up the phone last time and you're telling me not to feel guilty about the fact that I didn't do anything about Sebastian. This is just as bad. If not, it's _worse_ , because I could visibly _see_ that he had a problem. And I still chose to do nothing about it! With Dave, I couldn't have known that he was having a hard time. With Sebastian, the signs were everywhere. We _all_ thought he might really be sick. Even for just a moment, everyone felt like it could be true."

Mercedes stayed silent after that. She also seemed convinced. Kurt didn't know he had it in him to say such convincing speeches. He leaned back, and then froze when his phone alerted him with a new notification for the _BUMU_ Facebook group. Kurt immediately went to the page and he saw that Sebastian Smythe posted on the group, using his own Facebook: _I don't want any losers to visit me. LEAVE ME ALONE._

Kurt leafed through the comments people were already making, and felt sick when someone 'jokingly' asked Sebastian if he tried to kill himself by dehydration, or if he was just that desperate to get rid of that banana bread he ate.


	9. Chapter 9

**Eat Your Words**

Chapter Nine

* * *

Sebastian got his IV fluids, his shiny psychiatric appointment and a discharge after he flat-out insulted his mother.

He tried to make himself seem like this big sad victim—refusing to eat or drink, always putting on his ' _I am so sad and hurt and fragile'_ face. He learned that face from Kurt Hummel.

It was exhausting pretending that he actually barfed up warm, microwaved apple bits in soy yoghurt in his spare time.

Sebastian felt like, in the last few hours, he cried so much that he lost the fluids that he'd been given. He learned how to make himself cry at will a long time ago. Actual tears gave him pity points. Sebastian first used it when he tried to explain to the principal that all the other kids were picking on him. In reality, _he_ was the one that picked on them.

Sebastian sobbed so much throughout the whole hour of them asking questions—screaming, throwing fits, and slamming his head into walls until the principal was convinced that yes, Sebastian was the victim there.

When he was called to the principal's office at fifteen, he lost most of the weight. The only thing left of it was this small doughy-ness in his cheeks and little bits of flab on his arms and legs. This was far from the child that walked into the school hallway a year ago, the one who couldn't really fit in the seats. Sebastian used his pronounced weight loss to his advantage, as he shrieked in French to the principal: " _They hurt me so much I can't eat! They hurt me so bad!"_

But something changed that day when Sebastian came back home.

Sebastian knew like his mother didn't believe him. She wanted to, but she didn't. Lena offered a fake plastic smile, but ever since then, Sebastian felt like they were looking for the moment where she could proclaim that her son was a disgusting little piece of shit. He felt like both her and Lena just saw this hideous monster that he became.

Honestly? His mother wasn't buying this 'eating disorder' ruse one bit. In fact, she looked livid.

They were in the car, driving to Sebastian's art exam. The only thing he could think of was all the reasons why he was sitting in the back of a car on a hot Tuesday morning, driving to his school only moments after he got his first psychiatric appointment date for his fake eating disorder. How did he get here?

"They don't understand that your brother— _he_ _eats_ ," Nathalie said to Lena, who just kept flickering her dark eyes back at Sebastian and her mother. Lena was doing the eating this time. A large order of McDonalds' fries was on her lap, and Sebastian wanted to vomit. "Sebastian eats all the damn time. And he's trying to pull one over at _them_ like he did at the principal's office in France but not this time, Sebastian. _I_ won't let you this time. I won't."

Sebastian just stared at her, hands on his knees. Now, their secret was out. They really hated him for what he did back there in the principal office last year.

They didn't talk to Sebastian about it, but he knew that it was all about what he did there.

Before the principal office-bullying incident, his mother used to kiss his forehead, and tell him that he was the most special child in the world. He believed her. Sebastian would wake up on Christmas Day and feel like the luckiest kid in the world. Sebastian walked downstairs, sat down and open present after present. His smile stretched out so much that he felt like his face was about to split into two halves.

That same smile disappeared when he walked to school for the first time ever, and he saw the way the other kids looked at him. They called him names, and when he walked to them to sit with them, they laughed like it was the most absurd thing in the world. Fourteen-year-old Sebastian lived in absolute rejection. They poked fun at him all the time, mostly because he was _huge_. He remembered students making pig noises whenever he walked past them with his massive lunch tray. Fifteen-year-old Sebastian stopped eating junk food, ran around the park even when other kids sneered, and fought back. Then his well-meaning stances of pride just turned into these malicious, cutting comments that made those same kids cry. The icier the comments got, the more comfortable Sebastian felt when he went to school. Sometimes, people even paid for his new lunch (a single carton of skim milk with a tinned fruit salad). Other times, they walked him home to his mother. Sebastian felt like this was the only way he could have friends.

On his most recent birthday, Sebastian didn't feel special at all. He woke up late, and his mother gave him a monogrammed spoon telling him to eat more green things. Nice. So, he refused his own birthday dinner because it was all beige and brown. He wouldn't eat a single sprinkle off his cake. His mother was furious with him.

"Giving me the silence treatment, aren't you, you ungrateful brat?" Nathalie continued to rant. "That's it. I'm done with you. I'm through trying to get to you. The minute that you are eighteen, you're _out of my house_. Do you understand, Sebastian? Do you understand that I'm not playing your little childish games anymore? I-I know what you are and you're nothing more than your own father. I always knew that! Deep down, I always knew… I knew that day at the principal's office. I just thought I could bottle up those-those _feelings_. That's why I believed them so quickly. Those sweet, sweet boys that came to our house the other day—Kurt and Blaine. Because I know what you are deep down. I just didn't want to face up to see what my child has turned into."

Sebastian flicked his sea-green eyes towards Lena. She was twenty-one, close to twenty-two and still wasting her life away in that fucking house. But he had to bolt the second he turned eighteen because 'he hurt people's feelings.'

Bullshit. The only reason he became like _this_ was because of how everyone else fucking treated him. Assholes.

"You _do_ have an eating disorder, Sebastian," Nathalie looked serious. "An overeating disorder."

This surprised Sebastian. He felt his chest tighten. He wondered if his mother caught him sneaking off in the bathroom to eat filled chocolate bars, because he didn't want to lose more weight. At the same time, Sebastian didn't want to be caught eating all those refined carbohydrates and sugars all the time. He was ashamed that he was maintaining his weight on fucking gross, cheaply produced candy bars. But he didn't have a choice. If Sebastian ate healthy, he knew he'd lose even more weight. He just knew he couldn't possibly fit in all those green salads and kale smoothies back in his diet without him ending up in a serious calorie deficit because he only ate something like once, maybe twice, a day.

Eating this shit made him feel like that helpless, fat nine-year-old kid that got beat around by his father.

Sebastian remembered the time that he walked into his father's room and found a secret stash of posh chocolates (which he didn't know was his father's). He sat there, eating one by one by one. His father found him there and belted him until he bled on their cream-coloured carpet. Sebastian remembered screaming out for his mother to help him. Where was she then? _Nowhere_. But you know, at least, he got to the hospital before he died that morning.

But he remembered that she came to the ward with a giant pizza. Sebastian was so sick of eating, but he ate it anyway because it was the one single time in the fucking day he could convince himself that his mother loved him.

"Yeah, when I was two, _I_ was the one that fed myself with _Coke_ ," Sebastian mumbled dryly.

Nathalie just shrugged. "It was the only thing you'd drink."

Sebastian looked away from her. He was ashamed enough that he snuck off to the bathroom to eat high-calorie junk food. He didn't need his mother to rub it in by reminding her that Sebastian was one big comfort eater.

When he got to his exam, he wore his Dalton uniform and realised his mother forgot to pack his belt along with it. Sebastian was fucking furious. He'd changed in the bathrooms, and found out that he couldn't walk more than a few centimetres without his pants ending up on the ground. Sebastian got irritated, and pulled out safety pins from his butchered Nike backpack. Yes, he put safety pins all over his bag because he was the edgiest.

He clipped them to his pants and went off to do his art exam.

Sebastian pretended that people weren't tossing looks over at him when he was busy doing his 'rainbow over the bridge' whatever thing. Sebastian had four hours to finish his piece. His actual piece was absolute crap because his hands wouldn't stop shaking. The professor would probably love it because he found everything about poor, gay Sebastian heart-breaking and tragic. Typical.

By the time that everyone could leave, Sebastian turned around to walk out as fast as possible to avoid having anyone talking to him. No such luck because he was immediately cornered by Nick and Jeff.

"How-how was the hospital?" Jeff asked, moving closer to Sebastian.

Sebastian snorted. _Where were you BEFORE, asshole?_ "Great," he then sarcastically added on, "I can't wait until I take a dozen different type of pills that I've never taken before. It's so much better than weed." Nick stared at him.

"It's a joke!" Sebastian yelled out, noticing their faces crumble with relaxation before they fake-laughed.

"You're funny," Nick said. If Sebastian was so funny, Nick wouldn't look like he was about to be sick. "We should get coffee together. Just—just the three of us. How does that sound?"

Sebastian rolled his eyes. He did go to coffee with them. It was really nice. He didn't talk much. He just watched them talk mostly. He wanted to try to be nice again, but being nice didn't get him in the Lima Bean post-exam with two other guys that he didn't really hate. He could tell though, that they wanted him there because they felt guilty and scared, not because they liked him. But like the days where he used to drink large banana milkshakes and pretend his mother loved him, Sebastian sipped his soy cappuccino and pretended he had friends that actually liked him.


	10. Chapter 10

_oh my God, i just realised that people did not like Sebastian's mother in the last chapter. i thought it was the 'death pie' chapter (which is this one) until i realised i hadn't posted that yet. God, you are going to really hate her in this one..._

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Ten

* * *

 _"SEBASTIAN!"_ his mother yelled out his name that wonderful Tuesday afternoon.

He dropped the pen in his hand. You know, he was concerned about the ringing in his ear. Was that normal?

"I made you a…" Nathalie's voice sounded uncertain, and tired. "I made you a _PIE!_ "

Sebastian looked up to see his mother standing there, big fat oven mitts around a just-baked fresh pan of warm blueberry pie. He was overcome with an overwhelming nausea and dread. Because his mother only made him _pie_ when someone was _dying_ or _dead_. Or Sebastian was going to end up wishing it was _him_ that was fucking dead.

"Listen, _WE_ have to talk," said his mother immediately. "It's very important."

Sebastian was sure he had indigestion and he hadn't even had a piece of _the death pie_ yet.

The last time that she gave him a pie was two years ago, after a kid in school passed away because he had a heart defect that the docs didn't know about and his heart just _stopped_ when he was running. Sebastian couldn't stop thinking about it, cause he could hear the other kids scream out as the little kid was running, _"Run, Fatty Matty! Run!"_

Yeah, it didn't matter that Matty was 'fatty' anymore now that he was _dead_.

"Get off my fucking case," Sebastian suddenly said, not even wanting to know what she was going to say. "Get off."

"For the love of God, Sebastian… _I_ didn't even say anything yet!" Nathalie placed the pie in the centre of the table, and Sebastian's stomach twisted even more, his hand shaking. "Will you please stop acting like a child? You bloody tower over me. Show me some form of decorum because _I_ am your mother. I demand to be treated with _respect_."

"Sure," Sebastian snorted. He didn't even _like_ blueberries. "I respect the fact that you're a cunt."

His mother stared at him very seriously. Great. What? His grandmother's dog died? The sun was not going to shine for a few days because Sebastian was an asshole? The lazy ass principal finally looked at Sebastian's email and figured out that yeah, he didn't fucking take the damn calculus class, so he had no reason to do an exam on it for fuck's sake?

What was the big bad news here? Hummel's appendix exploded, and the world was coated in toxic pink glitter?

Nathalie placed a hand on Sebastian's off-yellow pants, which were full of fucking holes. He had more holes in his clothes than a microwaved potato. Yeah, the thrift shops probably had his face memorised by now because his clothes ended up getting torn in less than a week, and he had to drive to get some more presentable clothes. He probably had plastic bags filled with tattered pants that looked like they belonged to a fucking twelve-year-old.

"Sebastian, you know… I'm _sorry_ ," Nathalie was apologising. Not a good sign since he just called her a cunt.

He didn't even remember the last time she apologised for _anything_. This situation must be catastrophic.

"Yeah, you know what? I just realised I'd rather barf than have this conversation so if you'd just excuse me, I'm going to—" Sebastian got up, but Nathalie pushed him down. Man, for a little woman, she sure nearly dislocated his fucking shoulder joint. Wait, could _that_ get him out of his next exam?

His mother rolled her eyes. "Barf? Oh, is that because of your _super serious_ 'eating disorder'?"

Sebastian didn't reply to that. Even if his autopsy came back with 'died of complications due to toxic blueberry pie ingestion and anorexia nervosa', she wouldn't believe him. Whatever. He didn't give a shit.

"What's the thing that you just _had_ to tell me?" Sebastian changed the topic.

Yeah, Nathalie didn't appreciate that. "I almost felt bad for telling you this," she followed this with an _hmmph_ and then picked up the pie. "But you turned into a monster and I don't understand what on Earth could've happened to make you this way. I know the little kid that _I_ bought up was perfect but now, you just… you _ruined_ yourself. You made yourself sick with—my goodness, I don't even want to _think_ about it! Which brings me to my next point…"

"Get on with it. I've got a fucking exam to study for," Sebastian tried to pretend that didn't sting. Come on. His mother called him a _sick_ _monster_ and he had a Trigonometry exam in a few days. How could this day get any worse?

 _"FINE!"_ Nathalie slammed the pie down again and bits of hot pie splattered everywhere. Some were on his pristine notes, and hands, and he felt ill. " _OH, SWEET, WONDERFUL_ _SEBASTIAN!_ Your father is getting out of jail next week, and when he does, you are _HIS_ responsibility because I'm _SICK OF YOU STAYING IN MY HOUSE!_ "

She was leaving him, and Sebastian was just sitting there paralysed because _what the fuck?_ Did she just tell him that after next week, he was going to live with the guy that regularly used to beat him up into a near-death state?

And she took his pie! Sebastian was pissed. He didn't want the thing, but it still pissed him off that she took it.

Sebastian got up almost immediately afterwards, running after her—which didn't take long considering that she was holding a piping hot dessert just fresh out of the oven.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Sebastian finally said, a lump forming into his throat. "Why?"

Sebastian couldn't believe this. So, she didn't like that he lied to a principal a few years back, and now, she was sending him into the lion's cage because he was faking an eating disorder? And how the hell was she so certain that he was faking it? Maybe he really did have a problem scarfing down Snickers.

 _"WHY?"_ his mother shrieked, like it was the stupidest question that he'd ever asked in his whole entire life.

Lena had just walked in, and flinched at the sound of her mother's yell.

 _"I DON'T WANT YOU IN MY HOUSE!"_ his mother yelled out, and Sebastian paled. _"I KNOW THAT YOU'VE DONE SOME DEPLORABLLE THINGS, SEBASTIAN, BUT-BUT… GOING OUT ON DATES WITH MEN? KISSING THEM? SLEEPING WITH THEM? AND THEN COMING INTO MY HOUSE AND-AND CONTAMINATING MY PLATES AND MY BEDS WITH… OTHER-OTHER MENS' BODY FLUIDS! AND-AND…"_

Nathalie shrieked again. _"YOU TOUCHED ME! WITH… WITH YOUR POLLUTED, DISGUSTING HANDS!"_

Sebastian was so surprised. He knew not to mention his sexual endeavours around his mother, especially since he wanted her to slowly forget about it. Fuck Gay and Gayest. They just had to come here and out him out to his own mother. Come on. That had to be a sacred gay guy thing. You don't out someone that was gay, especially if you weren't fucking straight yourself. That was just _wrong_.

He moved closer to her, but Nathalie just moved away from him.

"Don't make me throw you out of the house _right now_ ," Nathalie hissed coldly at him, placing the pie at the edge of the table as if to try and feed a rabid animal. "Don't even _think_ of coming close to me. Do you understand?"

Sebastian gawked at her. Then it hit him because he knew what she _thought_ he had.

"Look, I… I'm clean, alright?" Sebastian was sure his mother thought he had AIDS. He was also fucking sure that his mother thought he didn't have an eating disorder because she was sure that he lost his weight because he was succumbing to a chronic, deadly infection because of his gaydom. Yeah, that was _bad_. "I'm _clean_."

"Get out of my face," was what she replied with. "You are _not_ clean."

"I'm fucking clean, okay? I'm fucking clean," Sebastian repeated, and he was sure that he was crying right then. It was humiliating. "I don't got no AIDS. I don't got no HIV. I've never even had an STD before, you know. I—"

Strands of dark hair were falling in front of her eyes. "Good luck on your exam, Sebastian. Now, get out of my sight."

"Look, okay?" Sebastian replied in a throaty voice. Tears were still spilling. "I can… I can fucking prove it. I…"

 _"LENA!"_ Nathalie's voice startled both Sebastian and Lena. Their hearts practically jumped out of their ribcage. " _DON'T EVEN THINK OF TOUCHING HIM OR I'M THROWING YOU TOO!_ Is that understood?"

Sebastian grabbed the pie dish that he was sure his mother was going to throw away anyway even if he ate it—you know, to prevent his gay germs from seeping in—and then smashed it against the wall. Blobs of blueberry pie were covering the wall. Sebastian was breathing heavily, choking and sobbing recklessly. He felt Lena move towards him, reaching out for him almost as if she wanted to hold him but then retracting her hands away because he was _diseased_.

His mother shrieked again. _"FORGET IT! I GAVE YOU ONE TOO MANY CHANCES!"_

Nathalie threw a spatula at him (yeah, seriously) and it smacked him in his wet face. That was going to bruise later, and he just knew it because he had baby Hummel delicate skin. _"OUT OF MY HOUSE… NOW!"_


	11. Chapter 11

**Eat Your Words**

Chapter Eleven

* * *

 _You are a terrible, terrible person_ , Kurt kept on tossing in his bed. He couldn't sleep, and he could already almost feel his eyes getting red and sore. His night time skin sloughing regime was particularly useless today.

 _And tomorrow, you are going to need Isabelle Wright to suddenly appear out of thin air and give you an intense make-up tutorial to even somewhat look presentable,_ Kurt always got very prominent bags under his eyes when he didn't sleep well. He usually looked like a ghost with a taste for Dior scarves and fat-free mochas that were still adding inches to his 'pear shaped hips'. Honestly, sleep-deprived Kurt could make Rachel's animals sweaters look almost glamorous, so him planning out his plan of action tomorrow was not selfish… he was salvaging everyone's visual capabilities too!

 _Isabelle Wright will not appear out of thin air tomorrow Kurt, and you will try to deal with your God awful dry face and red eyes. Everyone will find out that your eyebrows are asymmetrical, and they will laugh at you. And you will die out of shame and ridicule._

Kurt sighed deeply, and then turned his attention to the _OTHER_ big thing that was really bothering him. 

The fact that deep down, he was a terrible, most horrific person in the whole entire planet because he was now thinking about Sebastian Smythe at three in the morning. Because suddenly, Kurt had this one idea that maybe Sebastian was _faking_ his own eating disorder and now, he couldn't get it out of his head.

 _You're in a carb coma. You're not thinking clearly_ , Kurt told himself, but he also felt like Sebastian was a _FRAUD_.

There was this giant part of him that couldn't help but come to this conclusion that there was something incredibly _fishy_ about this whole 'Sebastian being a health freak that developed an eating disorder and lost half of his body weight magically overnight' situation that the world has thrown him in.

Kurt wanted to clarify that fishy feeling was _not_ anywhere near related to the twenty-third picture Kurt found of Sebastian eating this tiny little piece of salmon that wouldn't be able to sustain a twenty-day embryo much less a six-foot-two bloke that did _at least_ four hours of intense physical training a week.

And that wasn't counting the fact that Sebastian ran marathons in his spare time. Seriously.

If Kurt ran marathons, he would be eating more than half a cup of brown rice with about 4 ounces of salmon.

But Kurt had this eerie feeling that he heard something about Sebastian's eating habits _way_ before the whole _BUMU_ Facebook group noticed that Sebastian substituted on only water during the choir competitions whilst Kurt was busy purposefully singing off-key with Blaine and Mercedes and indulging half a pound of peanut M&M's Blaine bought.

He sighed in exasperation. Kurt knew that Sebastian said whatever it was about his eating habits, and Kurt blocked it out because well, _Sebastian_. So, Kurt tried to think about the deplorable things that Sebastian said—which led to him thinking about how much he loved Blaine… which then led to him trying to decide on where they should go for their date this Friday before he promptly remembered _exactly_ what Sebastian said ages ago.

It was one of those days where Sebastian walked towards them in the Lima Bean, decked in his awfully measured Warbler clothes, with his permanent meerkat smirk stitched on. There was nothing strange about any of that. Mind you this was before Skinny Sebastian lost forty pounds overnight by eating four ounces of salmon post three-mile run.

Kurt had been complaining about how he'd been stressed about his history exam and he wanted his teacher to take pity on him. He was debating whether he should tell the professor that he was a 'delicate snowflake.'

Sebastian found this hilarious and just happened to mention: _oh, princess, I lost some weight before, and I, intelligently, used it to my advantage and let him think that I'm a sad, pathetic gay kid that's being bullied—like I could ever be_ that _pathetic but anyway, I learned from other pathetic people. Shame I didn't meet you before because I would've really sold it if I knew how to be as petty as you… and he believed that I was the victim when_ I _was the one that was making guys cough up their fucking lunch money._

Kurt never understood how Sebastian liked to gloat about how much of a corrupted individual he was! _He_ certainly wasn't mentioning to anyone about what parts of his personality he thought that he could improve on.

Kurt's mind buzzed as he filled in all these blanks… Sebastian did not just lose _some_ weight before. He lost a _LOT_.

It was easy for anyone to look at skinny Sebastian from fat Sebastian and think that he was the victim. Kurt would have a hard time believing that scrawny little kid did anything more than ocassionally stick wet, freckled fingers into his ears and tried to gross girls out with his lewd personality and ability to eat stale Dorito chips without gagging.

Sebastian had _purposely_ used the advantage that looking frail and ultra-thin had given him—and Kurt bet that that was what he was doing right now because _he could_. Why wouldn't he? And if that gigantic Sebastian came up to him having have shrunk most of his body weight in a year complaining of being bullied and he got enough sympathy not to be expelled from his school, then how much _MORE_ sympathy would even-skinnier skinny Sebastian get?

Especially after the slushie fiasco and the Karofsky ordeal? Sebastian had _not_ been painted in a good light.

What if this was just his way of making people like him again and trust him again for the next hare-brained scheme he would cook up and somehow get the Warblers involved in? And then he had the _I am a sick and anorexic and sad snowflake_ card to play whenever things did not go his way! Kurt did not want to think that a person could be as despicable as to try and pretend the fact that he had _A DISEASE THAT LITERALLY KILLED MORE PEOPLE THAN ANY OTHER MENTAL CONDITION ON THE PLANET_. Kurt wanted to believe that Sebastian was not that cruel that he'd try so callously spit into the face of people that were sick just to get a few pats on his bony ass!

Kurt furrowed his eyebrows in concentration. He felt like a bad person for even considering it, but he knew, deep down, that he was right. He knew for a fact that Sebastian did _not_ have an eating disorder, and this was all staged!

Sebastian, like them, was in show business after all… he probably knew how to charm a teacher and pretend like he was sweeter than custard on cue if need be! And if there was something that Sebastian could reap the benefits from, he would! Plus, how many pity points would people give him if they thought that poor Sebastian couldn't eat an apple without having a breakdown and spent his mornings comparing his BMI to that of other emaciated people?

Kurt felt an anger rising in his stomach, but he tried not to think about it too much.

Suddenly, _everything_ just made so much sense. And how come for someone that was starving himself so heavily, he sure somehow had a _lot_ of energy—enough to run multiple kilometres. How come Sebastian had been seriously underweight for so long and he hadn't even come close to fainting, _sans_ that one time that he purposefully took large amounts of diuretics and laxatives? And didn't people with eating disorders try a little harder to cover the fact that they might have an issue instead of parading around with pants that practically showed off his every artery in his thighs?

And how could Sebastian have such a life-threatening eating disorder and still… have the exact same terrible personality with no obvious preoccupation with anything other than his own vanity and ego?

If Kurt didn't eat for a few hours, _everyone_ knew about it. If he was starving, he was always thinking about food.

To Sebastian, it seemed like food was practically the last thing on his mind, but if he was purposefully self-inflicting that starvation, wouldn't he be thinking about food all the time too? Unless he _wasn't_ doing the whole starving thing on purpose and was one of those people that barely ate when they were stressed, or he just forgot to eat because he was busy scaring off gay men with his smirks. From what Kurt heard, not only did Sebastian have exams, but he was forced to do a calculus final when he did not take calculus. Which sounded _amusing_ to Kurt, thinking of Sebastian entering an exam where he literally knew nothing about the subject… but seriously, what if Sebastian just lost the weight because of something innocuous, and now, that summer was edging closer, he was just going to put it back on?

Yes, it sounded strange. Sebastian losing tens and tens of pounds from _STRESS_ or just forgetting to eat _?_ But Kurt had put on _at least_ twenty in the last year because of how much his NYADA applications had been stressing him out. And his yo-yo dieting made it worse! He bet that super healthy Sebastian tried to schedule meals but ended up unintentionally skipping them! Same as Kurt did with his yo-yo dieting and got a disastrous effect!

Kurt tried to tell himself that it couldn't be possible. Sebastian losing so much and not having a problem but… but…

He couldn't help himself. The more he thought about how plausible it was that Sebastian was just trying to reap the benefits out of losing a tonne of weight when he was already thin, the truer it sounded like. And the angrier he got. Because only Sebastian Smythe would try to take a _life-threatening condition_ and turn it into his own personal pity party!

Kurt curled up with his sheets, seething. He had vowed to himself that he would find evidence about this. Because suddenly, he didn't feel very guilty. In fact, he felt extremely empowered that he went to Sebastian's house and told him off to his mother. Because he deserved it for pretending that he was sick with a fucking eating disorder when all that happened was him forgetting to eat his sweet potatoes because his mother was getting on his nerves, telling him to clean his room and attempt to be a decent human being for more than twenty-four hours. Kurt also knew that Blaine would not be happy to hear Kurt say any of this. He probably saw Sebastian as this fragile butterfly that _everyone_ had to protect… even if he didn't particularly sound it out. Blaine was too nice sometimes!

Unfortunately, Kurt was not. But it wouldn't matter because he was going to prove _two_ things…

Firstly, he was going to prove that Sebastian was a fraud. Secondly, he was going to prove that you can get less than four hours of sleep and still look like you weren't run over by Finn's sad, filthy pick-up truck.


	12. Chapter 12

_sorry for the 1 month long wait! i totally appreciate the comments, guys. especially the super long comments on last chapter. honestly, i love them. i'm going to probably reread them, but my God, you are right on the money with your analysis, guys! just one comment: you're totally right about Sebastian having disordered eating habits before that he didn't label as disordered. it's pretty compounded in this chapter too._

 _this is a mini filler but i promise i'll update soon. i swear! the next one is Sebastian interacting with Klaine._

 _truth is i totally wrote way more chapters and it got deleted so i have to rewrite them... annoying!_

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Twelve

* * *

Sebastian knocked on Dave Karofsky's door on a Tuesday that he spent carrying had as much of his house as he could. So much _junk_ was currently shoved into the back of his broken Bentley and Sebastian wanted more.

He wanted the whole damn house. This wasn't fair.

He had his Nike backpack filled with his all his huge textbooks, a duffel bag stuffed with his best clothes, socks and underwear, his pressed and cleaned Dalton uniform hung in the backseat, a wallpaper he tore from his blue-coloured walls that smelled like _his fucking home_ , a box of chocolate-covered Twinkies (which he hated but was always around because Lena and his mother ate them all the time), an old pillow from their couch, Lena's purple, starry blanket, his mother's favourite dark blue Christmas sweater that smelled like her, and the ugliest pair of pants that Lena owned.

He was trying not to break down into tears even now. Sebastian had spent the last two fucking hours crying.

He placed his hands into his pockets, feeling like his world was crumbling again. Sebastian watched Dave open the door, look alarmed at the sight of Sebastian before clearing his throat, and looking down at his feet.

"Hey," Dave said, and Sebastian could tell almost immediately that he didn't want Sebastian to be there.

Sebastian kept his eyes on the floor. Why the fuck did he come here first? He was an asshole to Dave, nearly made the guy kill himself, gave him a few flowers and walked right off like everything was cured. Now, he was asking the jock for a _favour?_ What the hell? Sebastian rubbed his neck, and swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Hey," Sebastian replied, and realised he like the cologne that Dave was wearing. _Suffocate_ by _Who the Fuck Covered Their Body in This Much Cologne?_ "Like the flowers?"

"Yeah," Dave responded, but Sebastian was sure he ended up tossing it anyway. What was a big, burly guy like Dave supposed to do with a bunch of flowers anyway? And little ones that didn't even _look_ like flowers…

Sebastian felt like vomiting, or passing out. "Can I… can I stay the night here?"

Dave just kept staring at him. "You serious?" the way he said it made Sebastian shudder cause he didn't know why. Somehow, now with the whole Dave thing, he felt like he had to be as nice as he could to the guy no matter what. Apparently, Dave didn't have the same feeling about it. "What? You give me a bunch of flowers and now, you wanna sleep in _my_ fucking house? You should be glad I even bothered to open the door for you, jackass."

Sebastian's voice was low. "You could've just said no."

"Like _YOU_ said no to me when I asked you out?" Dave snorted, and Sebastian just wanted to break down. "Get off my property, or I'm going to make you wish you didn't insult me the first time around. Got it?"

Sebastian numbly nodded his head. "Sure," he said in a low voice. "Have a good night."

 _"Watch it,"_ was Dave's final statement, as he slammed the door in Sebastian's face.

Sebastian broke down afterwards, sobbing into his hands. After some time, he wiped the tears off his eyes. He managed to humiliate himself more profoundly than he did the first time. Honestly, Sebastian tried not to drive like a maniac like he usually did—well, tried to do because his car had a habit of randomly shutting down in the middle of the road and half the time, his car wouldn't let him go past 50 mph. He didn't even really _care_ about getting into a fucking car accident anymore. He could die for all he cared. It wasn't like his life was worth anything anymore.

Sebastian thought that maybe he was being whiny, but he meant it.

He parked his car in the middle of nowhere, and then went to the backseat. He collapsed and looked through the back of accumulated junk that was making his car so fucking heavy. He pulled out his mother's favourite sweater and curled it up in a ball. He buried his head into it, and wept, wondering _why_ this happened to him.

Sebastian was fucking terrified of himself. He wanted to drive his fucking car over a cliff _so damn bad_. He wanted to get punched until he was blue in the face, or had his intestines torn out of his stomach. But he was terrified also that if he did those things, that the Gay Police would tell him he was only doing it for attention and copying Dave.

He slept in his car that day and the following morning, on an early Friday morning (hey, getting kicked out of his house sounded like a good reason to skip all his classes that day), Sebastian drove over to the Lima Bean. He caught sight of his reflection bouncing off the door. Sebastian was always surprised at how fucking wasted he looked like.

He wondered what the kids in old fucking school would say—or at least wondered for approximately three seconds before he realised that they splattered it all over the fucking Facebook page what they thought of him withering away.

One of them had suggested that he start throwing up his favourite kale smoothie and go for more runs because his legs were still huge. Sebastian stared down at his legs, that were almost too small for his smallest fucking pants, and then rolled his eyes. Yeah, sure. Like he needed to _run_. Besides, he was busy running his mouth half the time.

Sebastian changed his clothes in the car (from black to black), but self-conscious about how toxic he might smell like.

He walked into the coffee shop, his whole heart soaring when he smelled the familiar warm filter coffee smell wafting from the counter. The walls were painted in this pretty gorgeous beige and chocolate brown colour matching the debonair decor, and he could easily live here for the rest of his life with no complaints. He paid for a coffee, and debated whether he should eat something because Sebastian couldn't recall the last meal he had.

He got himself a sandwich with pesto, tomatoes, and chicken—nothing with fattening mayonnaise or cheese.

He grabbed one half of the sandwich and threw it away before he realised what the fuck was he doing. Sebastian was so used to the habits that he had when he'd lost the damn weight in the first place, he didn't realise how fucking bad it looked like for this gaunt, skinny tall kid to throw half of his ginormous sandwich away.

Sebastian then calmed down when he realised that _oh wait_ , he was supposed to be _faking an eating disorder_ to get back at those two rugrats that fucking ruined his life and made him stay with the guy that used to make his life miserable.

Sitting down by his own little table in the middle of nowhere, Sebastian felt like fucking crying. He couldn't believe he had to sleep in his own damn car, and he didn't know where he was going to shower tonight.

Sebastian had no fucking money for a motel. He thought that maybe he should just not do his last two exams because he didn't know who to go to. He didn't have any friends. But he couldn't turn up smelling and looking like shit on his last two exams either because that would make people ask. Worse, they'd just assume he didn't care that he turned up smelling like a swamp. Maybe Sebastian should indulge those assholes, and just skip the last two exams he had. He'd fail the whole fucking year no doubt, but what real damn choice did Sebastian Smythe have _at this stupid fucking point?_

Sebastian didn't have a house. He didn't have anywhere to go. He contemplated going to the grocery store and stocking up on as much food as possible, so he could live in his car for a week.

He also contemplating doing something that would make him break three bones. He'd live at the hospital for the whole damn week, _and_ he'd be able to shower _and_ eat and his parents would pay for it. Sebastian then came to the saner conclusion of just taking a shower when his mom wasn't there, and then changing in the house. He could grab more useless stuff there, and steal some money from his someone's fucking purse to get himself some overpriced coffee because even when he was essentially homeless for the week, Sebastian wouldn't let his image slip away.

Oh, and remember that his mom hit him with the spatula? There was a big bruise there now. Wonderful.

Maybe Sebastian needed to get make-up too when he went there tonight to take a long shower, and smell various objects around his house because underneath all this cool and collected attitude, he was pathetic.

As he stared at his chicken sandwich, not wanting to eat a single bite of it because he was sure he got nauseous at the realisation that he didn't have a home, Sebastian suddenly remembered the one time that one of the fattest kid in class sat with him. Sebastian was so happy, cause he thought that he had a friend he could be himself around. But the kid was surprised when Sebastian ate a whole deep-dish pizza for lunch (he packed it from home) and then still have room not for one, but _three_ cheap cafeteria chocolate puddings. The kid told Sebastian that he thought that was disgusting, and told every other kid in class _how much_ he ate. And then they shoved pizza slices in his bag for a _year_ because of it.

Sebastian came home every day, heard his parents fighting and dug out rotten pieces of pizza and threw them in the bin. His textbooks and notebooks were covered in pizza grease. Bugs infested in his bag _all_ the time—and Sebastian was terrified of them. One time, one of the kids tried to force a fuzzy slice of mushroom pizza down his throat.

Sebastian thought that fat and gay kids understood what he was going through, but they didn't. Sebastian was fucking angry at the fact that Kurt and Blaine _OUTED_ him. He felt like they were discriminating him for being fat and gay, but he looked at the mirror and he didn't _look_ like he _felt_. So why did he feel like that rejected fat kid all the damn time?

Sebastian was not sure why the hell _he_ was the big, bad wolf when the good guys literally have him tossed in the clutches of his evil, abusive father after they somehow convinced his mom that he had AIDS.


	13. Chapter 13

**Eat Your Words**

Chapter Thirteen

* * *

Blaine Anderson and Kurt Hummel were decidedly having a normal Friday.

Well, if a normal Friday included Blaine waking up at four in the morning because his phone was blowing up with Trent's messages about how he was going to kill himself if he failed his French exam.

Meanwhile, Kurt was literally receiving _hundreds_ of text messages from the Warblers telling them all about how screwed they were. They had just finished the last batch of exams in the last couple of weeks, and suddenly had all this free time to complain about what they did wrong instead of basking into the glow of their summer holidays! From Nick foaming at the mouth because he put a _pinch_ of sugar more in his home economics final (Kurt didn't even know that Dalton did home economics or that they _examined_ them in that) to Jeff being sure that he was not going to be a health coach after his poor health and gym test performance.

And between them, they had fifty-two missed calls all in the last twenty-four hours.

Kurt and Blaine were sure they were going to kill any Warbler they saw on their route to the Lima Bean.

 _Especially_ Sebastian Smythe.

Even though Sebastian did not bombard them with various text messages about their suicide plans if things did not go their way, Kurt was almost convinced that he _lived_ there. Every time they went to the Lima Bean for a nice coffee, Sebastian was sitting in a corner almost always dressed in his disgusting, itchy Dalton uniform (even at seven at night) and drinking what must've been his fifth or sixth cup of overpriced coffee that night.

What? He didn't like that his mother told him not to bully sweet innocent gay boys like them?

 _'But mom, I need to be an asshole! My doctor told me I would die from irreversible brain damage if I was nice to guys that fart rainbows out of their asses in gay parades!'_ Kurt could practically imagine Sebastian theatrically waving his arms in a 'nobody understands me' sort of manner. He rolled his eyes.

Today was apparently no exception. The minute that they walked in, they noticed Sebastian standing in the line, with a gorgeous-looking leather shoulder bag. Sebastian was wearing what looked to be discounted black jeans that had holes in them that probably shouldn't be there, and an old shockingly bright green t-shirt with a giant faded pink-coloured stain. If Kurt was feeling particularly pernickety, he would ask Sebastian if he'd started toilet-training yet.

"Doesn't his father's million-dollar-a-day salary help pay for some decent clothes?" Kurt was amazed that anyone could look so _bad_. "I wouldn't wear that if I was dying of poverty and it was the only clothes I have to wear."

Kurt could not believe the same guy that paid for six or seven cups of overpriced coffee a day was parading around wearing a poorly constructed, cheap quality blanket with sleeves. He was amazed that Sebastian's gorgeous, well-dressed mother even let Sebastian go out looking like an oversized three-year-old that accidentally spilled his favourite bottle of cheap strawberry milk on himself during a temper tantrum.

"Uh…" Blaine got out of his trance and then nodded his head. "Yeah, it's-it's really bad… I guess."

Meanwhile, Blaine was too busy staring at Sebastian's body. He saw Sebastian lean in to read the menu, his t-shirt exposing a gap of thin skin where Blaine could see his chest bones peeking out. That… did _not_ look healthy.

"Should we talk to him?" Blaine suddenly suggested. "I mean… I…."

"Why would we talk to him? I thought we both agreed on the fact that Sebastian is a health hippie that probably resists his own munchies and only eats organic sweet potatoes," Kurt mumbled, but he was still shocked to notice how small his arms were. Kurt was rubbing his eyes, and then shook his head. "No, we are _not_ talking to Sebastian Smythe, Blaine. I believe the first thing that will come out of my mouth is, _do you live here?_ "

"I would indeed live here if the Nude Erections didn't ruin this perfectly gorgeous place with their discounted designer clothes and inferior hair products," Sebastian replied to Kurt, standing there and holding his coffee.

Blaine flushed because he did not know if Sebastian heard the organic sweet potatoes part.

"Hey, are you okay?" Blaine asked. "I can't believe you went to an exam after getting discharged from a hospital!"

"No, I'm not fucking okay," Sebastian replied bitterly, coffee dripping down his freckled hands. "Who gave you the right to talk to _my mother?_ What fucking terrible thing that I did to your pretty powder princess asses that was so bad that you felt the need to go to my mother? And what'd you say? Tell her that I tore your faux Marc Jacobs off?"

Kurt's reply was icy. "Do you really need a _LIST_ of all the wrong things that had prompted me to go to your mother and tell her that you've been assaulting my friends because you're sore about my boyfriend not being single?"

"But princess, that doesn't compare to what you did to me," Sebastian snorted, and then followed with a smirk.

 _"EXCUSE ME?!"_ Kurt wheezed out, his eyes wild with anger. He looked like he wanted to punch Sebastian. "Blaine had to have _EYE_ surgery. In fact, if you hit me, _I_ could be the one having that. Are you so spoiled that you think that us talking to your mother is just as bad as you nearly blinding my boyfriend?"

Sebastian collapsed into laughter. Kurt looked like he was close to an aneurysm.

"So, _your_ solution to me being a big bad bully to that is to go to my mom and get me thrown out of my house for a week because you outed me out," Sebastian's lip twitched. Blaine was horrified. "Did you know that she thinks I have AIDS? Cause I obviously throw myself at any guy that has a big dick… the gay powder princess said so!"

His coffee was on the ground, and Sebastian did not seem to care. He didn't even flinch when the hot liquid made its way to his feet, or when people started staring at him because he just laughed like a maniac.

Kurt seemed surprised for a minute, but Blaine was even more surprised when Kurt actually _replied_ to that.

"Honestly? I don't believe you," Kurt finally said. "And it's not _my_ fault that you project yourself in that way that makes her think that you're promiscuous enough that you might actually have a deadly STD."

Sebastian swore that Kurt was a bigger bitch than him but got away with it because he was this _poor little gay thing_.

He was so pissed. Why did everyone think he had AIDS?

"Fuck off!" Sebastian yelled. " _I_ don't have AIDS. Just because I have sex more than once every six months doesn't mean I'm riddled with STD's I can't fucking pronounce. You fucking _outed me_ and _then_ you insulted me and yet _I'm_ the only fucking bad guy to ever exist and Kurt Hummel is a perfect gay saint that could do no fucking wrong."

"Are _you_ really trying to victimise yourself?" Kurt raised an eyebrow. " _Oh_ , I nearly blind people! Feel sorry for me!"

"Kurt, _stop_ ," Blaine begged, but Sebastian just stormed off. "This is…"

"I don't believe that asshole," Kurt just shook his head vigorously. Multiple people had stepped in front of them in the counter, obviously because they hadn't moved to the counter. "What kind of person could _claim_ that his mother thinks that he's straight, and tell everyone that remotely looks at him that he's gay?"

Blaine was feeling uncomfortable. "Kurt, I…"

"Did you really think that sweet woman that we met could throw that terrible terror out of her house?" Kurt suddenly asked, and Blaine honestly didn't think that it was possible.

"But Kurt… a-a week ago, you were going to visit him in the hospital!" Blaine seriously didn't feel comfortable with any of this. He couldn't believe Kurt said any of those things to Sebastian, when it was obvious to Blaine nobody looked like Sebastian did unless they had something important and serious going on. Or if they had an eating disorder like the whole world thought he did (but miraculously nobody cared about to really ask about). Or if they were on their damn death bed. "And did you really just tell him you thought he had _AIDS?_ "

"I realised he's trying to make me feel guilty and it's easy because I'm a good person. Also, I concluded that I believe that he doesn't have an eating disorder but is basically using whatever is _actually_ making him lose weight as a way to garner sympathy! He is _PURE_ scum, Blaine," Kurt watched a guy wipe off the coffee that Sebastian spilled on the ground. Kurt crossed his arms over his chest and hummed to himself. "And you're too good to be his friend."

"I don't really feel like his friend right now," Blaine honestly said. He didn't feel like he deserved to after that.

Kurt's face lit up when he saw Dave Karofsky standing there and ran up to him. Blaine felt even more apprehensive when Kurt wrapped his arms around the guy that used to bully him all the time—the guy that _intentionally_ told Kurt that he would _kill_ him and had _forcibly_ kissed him before. In the same breath, Kurt didn't seem to care that Sebastian could've been kicked out of his mother's house for a week because they outed him. What if it was _true?_ What if Sebastian was homeless and _that_ was why he looked so _bad?_ Blaine shook his head. Yeah… that sounded far-fetched.


	14. Chapter 14

**Eat Your Words**

Chapter Fourteen

* * *

Kurt was horrified when he opened the _BUMU_ Facebook page the following day and realised that Sebastian posted a particularly terrible picture of himself on the internet, and a long paragraph rant about how he had been suffering from an eating disorder. _Sebastian was so small and sad and gay and brave because he was this tragic little thing that was a victim of society._ Bullshit. Kurt's horror immediately melted into _rage_ because he was sure with every fibre of his being that Sebastian Smythe wouldn't know how it was like to have an actual problem if it bit him in the ass.

Sometimes, Kurt hoped that this did _not_ actually bite in Sebastian Smythe's in his non-existent, kale-craving ass.

But most times, Kurt hoped it would because he wanted Sebastian to have the smallest _lick_ of what he had to go through all his life. Sebastian didn't deserve to just _stand_ there with his privileged, pathetic smirk, saying that he was suffering from a deadly eating disorder. In fact, he was belittling every single person that was suffering from one!

In the photo, Kurt could see how sunken Sebastian's eyes were and how dry his skin looked. Kurt was _sure_ that this was a post-diuretic picture with him sucking in and making himself look as sickly as possible. Which made Kurt realise that Sebastian was desperate enough to seriously dehydrate himself for fake photos that he took with the full intention of disclosing them on the internet to appear sick when he was _fine_. That was _disgusting_.

Who even _TOOK_ photos like these anyway and plastered them all over _social media?_

Sebastian was _pretending_ he had an eating disorder because he wanted everyone to believe that he had this super sad, tragic backstory that should draw them in like a moth to a flame. _If_ that flame was a narcissistic asshole.

Kurt spent thirty minutes that morning ranting to Blaine about the fact that he knew that Sebastian was faking his eating disorder. Blaine was stammering in disbelief, anxiety and nervousness. He obviously didn't agree, but also wisely did not want to cross paths with a Kurt that hadn't even had his breakfast yet.

Kurt was angry. He was stabbing his cheese-filled sausage with a fork and glaring at the table.

"Whoa, kid," Burt was smiling over at him. "What did the table ever do to you?"

Kurt wasn't in the mood for anything that morning. He was busy being thoroughly amazed at the fact that people like _Sebastian Smythe_ existed. The only thing that would satisfy him right now was if he somehow found a way to _destroy_ him. Honestly, for the first time in a long time, Kurt wished he sent that tape to Dalton! He really wished that he had gotten Sebastian expelled because right now, Kurt believed that he deserved _every_ bad thing that was coming to him.

"He's like pissed that Sebastian Smythe like lied about having an eating disorder," said Finn, surprising Kurt because he honestly didn't know that Finn knew that. "Sorry, dude, but like with the way that you were yelling at Blaine… I feel sad for the guy for like not only almost being blind but today, he has to deal with like almost being deaf."

Kurt was blushing profusely. He did not _yell_ at Blaine.

Burt's eyes stayed focused on Kurt, "And this is the same kid that tried to throw that slushy that made Blaine get eye surgery, right? And the same kid that told Karofsky to go buzz off and lose weight?"

Man, did he really tell his dad all of that? Kurt went redder. "Yes."

"That kid needs an intervention," Burt didn't seem to like Sebastian either. "Or juvie."

Kurt imagined Sebastian in a juvenile delinquent hall, smirking at him from the other side of the room and shuddered. "He's furious at me because I talked to his mother about his misbehaviour and according to him, he insisted that that sweet, wonderful lady that I talked to threw _him_ out of the house for a week! He had the nerve to tell me that _I_ _OUTED_ _HIM_. There is literally not a single person in Ohio that isn't aware of Sebastian's sexual preferences!"

Finn stared at Kurt like he was crazy. "Dude, before you came out, like… the dudes in the football team thought you already came out. Even if you didn't say it out right cause _um_ , your clothes and your hair and—"

"If you want to keep the nerves in your spine intact, I suggest that you do _not_ finish that sentence," Kurt threatened.

"Seriously! Like look, um… like I was thrown out of the house before I was a dick," Finn looked over at Burt and blushed but Burt only gave him a pointed look. "It is so _not_ cool. And I had Puck to go to, so what if he wasn't lying about being thrown out of his house? Cause like maybe his mother didn't know, and she freaked. Plus, like you didn't just out him, you told her that her son was like a monster that nearly made a guy have eye surgery."

"I did _not_ out Sebastian Smythe," Kurt ate a mouthful of his porridge. "I'm sure that's virtually impossible."

Finn looked over at Burt, as if he wanted to back him up.

"I don't know anything about this kid," Burt obviously was not siding with Finn. "But Kurt knows about this sort of stuff more than I do. You know I just do my best to support my kid and _I_ personally don't know much about this whole being gay thing and how other parents deal with it. I just know this town is homophobic."

Finn thought it was kind of an asshole thing of Kurt to do. Cause Sebastian was gay too, and like not every parent was like Kurt's dad, or even Blaine's dad who didn't love it but didn't completely want to throw him out and never see him again. It reminded him about how the whole school knew about the Quinn thing, and his mom just found out when he was looking at ultrasound pictures. It was a big deal. And being kicked out was a big deal too. And Kurt might just not _get it_ , but it kind of pissed him off also because of the whole Karofsky thing. It should make Kurt nicer to gay guys, like they might kill themselves because life got too much?

"Kid, you're not going to go ask his mom if she kicked him out, are you?" Burt suddenly asked.

Kurt was chewing his sausage, and then beamed. "That is a wonderful idea."

"No, it ain't, Kurt," Burt looked horrified at the thought of even giving Kurt that idea. " _She's_ not going to tell you if she threw her own son out of the house. And don't tail the kid either. That's not what I taught you to do."

"That's a way better idea than asking his mom," Finn decided. Burt sighed deeply, and Kurt smirked.

"I suppose things are not going your way this morning," Kurt told his father, who just said a small 'tell me about it' before stealing one of the low-fat raspberry banana muffins that Carole made yesterday. "I won't _tail_ him. I will simply keep an eye out for him in the Lima Bean, where he seems to be currently residing in… so I could have an intelligent conversation with him instead…. _without_ Blaine around. Isn't that what you would've wanted me to do?"

"I'm supposed to believe that _that's_ what you're going to do and that you aren't going to be stalking this guy in real life?" Burt took a few bites of the muffin. Kurt knew Burt didn't like it but ploughed through it effortlessly. "After seeing how many hours you spend stalking him on Facebook, trying not to accidentally like an old photo of his?"

Kurt _did_ accidentally end up liking a photo Sebastian of a beach took in August… in 2005. Horrible.

"I see your point," Kurt replied, but then offered an angelic smile. Burt did not buy it. "I will not stalk him…"

"…a lot," Finn finished the sentence for Kurt.

"I'm not bailing you out if you get in trouble," Burt warned him, but Kurt knew that that was not true, just like Burt knew that it wasn't true that Kurt wouldn't buy another pair of shoes this month. They were on _sale_ , alright? "I don't like this Sebastian guy one bit, but I don't want you getting yourself or him into unnecessary trouble."

"Dad, what do you think _I'm_ going to do that could get that law-breaking heathen into trouble?" Kurt wondered.

Finn started whistling, probably because he was thinking about that one tape that Kurt nearly sent to Dalton.

Kurt rolled his eyes. Sebastian did not need help getting in trouble with the authorities. His fake ID's, constant bar hopping and instance on driving above the speeding limit with his terrible-looking Bentley was enough.

He finished his breakfast and had a relatively normal day in school—up to the point where Rachel decided that she was going to become more spiritual and wore a dress that Kurt wanted to mention was more sheer than she thought that it was. So, Kurt saw a few parts of Rachel that he did not want to see. Oh, and he also drank expired orange juice and could hear Sebastian smirking at him from afar. After school, he decided to go to the Lima Bean by himself, where he specifically looked around for Sebastian Smythe but for once, he was nowhere to be found.

As he left the Lima Bean, a coffee in his hand, he noticed that Sebastian's Bentley was parked outside.

Kurt inched closer to it, and then peered inside to notice that Sebastian was curled up at the back of his car—asleep. His head buried in a bundle of some form of sweater, his chest exposed—which should be illegal for obvious reasons. His Dalton pants were slipping down. Kurt noticed that there was a bunch of wrappers at the bottom of his car. Kurt couldn't believe it—super healthy Sebastian eating _fast food_. How very eating disorder-y of him.

Kurt couldn't resist taking a few photos, even though he knew that it was not okay to just take a picture of Sebastian when he was in such a vulnerable position. This may practically be the ultimate confirmation that Sebastian was kicked out of his house but… Kurt couldn't care less. Even _asleep,_ Sebastian managed to get on his nerves.


	15. Chapter 15

**Eat Your Words**

Chapter Fifteen

* * *

Ever since he found Sebastian in his car in the Lima Bean, Kurt had been— _err_ —not-so-diligently-but-still-diligently-enough-to-be-sure following Sebastian for the past few days to try and discredit him as this poor little eating disorder sufferer that could barely eat a piece of broccoli without threatening to vomit.

After a long, hectic Monday, Kurt spotted Sebastian in a moderately priced retail store that actually had cute clothes!

He was momentarily shocked by the spatula-sized bruise on Sebastian's face that he Sebastian must have been covering up because Kurt hadn't noticed it before.

Apparently, the breakfast _that he didn't want to eat because he was SO anorexic_ fought back! Kurt mused to himself.

Kurt watched Sebastian manouvere through the sea of studded denim, off-white pants, and embroidered pockets in. He picked up a pair of disco pants and paled. If he was any whiter, he'd become the ghost of Christmas past.

It was so obvious that Sebastian hadn't shopped anywhere near the female's section before.

 _GET OVER IT!_ Kurt wanted to shout at him. _You have no problem nearly blinding your crush, but a pair of Daisy Dukes installs the fear of God in you? Or is it because you're afraid that you're not snowflake-y enough to fit into them? Or is it because you don't think that it's not ugly enough to go with the ten thousand horrifying sweaters and blankets that you have in your car?_

Kurt did not understand how Sebastian could stand to have old ugly sweaters, giant textbooks, and boxes of wilted arugula that he obviously stole from an unsuspecting rabbit in his car. Where he _slept_ in.

It was pathetic—and hipster-like in some way. Kurt could see Rachel doing this... on a more sanitary level of course.

Though in Sebastian's defence, underneath his pressed Warbler blazer, he was apparently this health obsessed hipster hippie that ran several marathons according to his Facebook… and subsisted only on Clif bars.

Well, up until two years ago where he wrote a spiel about how many carbohydrates and sugars were in a Clif bar and how he'd rather choke on a piece of fried chicken than have another one of those 'carb bombs.'

So instead, Sebastian seemingly switched to Luna Protein bars... which were typically marketed for _women_.

Sebastian continued weeding through a bunch of skinny jeans that were made exclusively for very small women. He was apparently having a hard time finding the right length than he was finding the right size. Not many hundred-pound women were six-foot-two after all… and if they were, they were probably hospitalised after a fashion show in Milan and hooked to a feeding tube against their will.

Kurt was satisfied watching this, and yet again found himself taking a few more pictures than necessary.

How could he _not?_ Sebastian Smythe, he who always made it his life mission to tell Kurt that he was just about as masculine as a case of raspberry macaroons wrapped with a glittery bow, was buying _WOMEN'S_ clothing.

He watched Sebastian walk off almost to the counter when he found a pair of non-descript looking pants to buy. Sebastian slammed down the exact amount he needed for the jeans, and practically bolted out of there faster than the Flash. Kurt was so glad to get the few pictures that he did before Sebastian disappeared faster than a plate of doughnuts in Glee club. Being a selfie expert, he was sure that they were still good quality photographs.

Kurt bought a few sweaters and cardigans and sat down sipping a strawberry-banana smoothie in his car. He examined every spec of that photograph, trying to see if there were any hidden clues.

He did not find anything suspicious, or eluding… This was much easier in mystery novels! That, or he really had no Nancy Drew in him. Kurt leaned back and sighed, keeping the picture zoomed as he drank his fresh, fabulous smoothie that he was sure had added way more sugar in it than was necessary.

If Kurt believed in God, he'd probably go to hell for trying to bring Sebastian into public scrutiny like this.

Yes, it was pitiful and sad. But Kurt was just sick of Sebastian trying to pretend he was _so sick and sad_. Something deep inside Kurt _knew_ now, for a fact, that Sebastian did not have an eating disorder just like he knew exactly who the season finalist for America's Got Talent was every year.

Kurt could vividly remember that time that Mercedes refused to eat for days until everyone somehow transformed into giant walking hot dogs and cupcakes. Then she _fainted_. In a few _days_ of self-inflicted starvation.

Sebastian— _athletic_ Sebastian that did hours of lacrosse a day—somehow trying to pretend that he didn't fuel his body at all. He was able to go through a few months without blacking out because _he only ate lettuce. How sad_. Beyond the weight loss, Sebastian seemed like he hadn't changed at all. If Sebastian literally ate so little and moved so much, he would at least look _TIRED_ for Prada's sake! If Kurt crash dieted for a mere two _DAYS_ , he started to feel exhausted, lightheaded and was generally impossible to be around. How was it that beyond the weight loss, Sebastian was not _physically_ affected by his diet? Seriously. Sebastian's last Facebook status involved him running a five-kilometre run a few days ago. Kurt ate way more than needed and he wouldn't be able to run a marathon without heart palpitations! What fuelled this never-ending energy that Sebastian had? Was this just attributed to a box of wilted arugula or did Sebastian harness his energy force from tasteless insults and sexist comments?

Kurt knew that Blaine would forgive him when everyone realised that Kurt was right, and Sebastian was really that big of an arrogant jerk that he would _LIE_ about having an _EATING DISORDER_ just so that he could victimise himself.

Of course, doing this still made Kurt feel like a cartoonish villain with a mysterious moustache and a bad over-comb. Because Sebastian was _actually_ _homeless_. And Kurt was _technically_ targeting a homeless teenager… that sounded _bad_.

After more than a few Lima Bean visits during the weekend, Kurt noticed that Sebastian's Bentley was always parked in the Lima Bean. Kurt could confirm that Sebastian most definitely spent his whole day in the coffee shop because Kurt made his stops from seven, two, six and nine and Sebastian was _still there_. In the _same position_ and clothes.

It made sense if Sebastian practically lived in the Lima Bean.

The Lima Bean was one of the few places in Lima that were gay friendly.

In fact, one of their best-selling speciality hot beverages was this large, radioactive rainbow latte that had enough sugar to make every gay person in Lima put on twenty pounds a week. Their love of the LGBT crowd, large fancy elaborate themes for the holidays and free extra whipped cream was why the Warblers and McKinley Glee club frequented it.

Kurt certainly went in without fear of being ridiculed. He did, however, have a fear of lacklustre holiday drinks!

Upon thoroughly analysing the Lima Bean website yesterday, Kurt managed to find out that their goal was to fund the biggest LGBT homeless youth centre in Lima. _THAT_ was why they were so keen on letting Sebastian stay there for hours and hours a day without a complaint! Kurt bet that they probably sold him discounted or even free coffee too.

And with someone that was as gaunt as Sebastian, it probably didn't take a lot of convincing on his end.

 _I am but a privileged white meerkat. Please feed me quinoa and avocado smoothies_ , Kurt rolled his eyes at the thought.

But even though Kurt accepted the fact that Sebastian didn't lie about being homeless, he didn't believe his 'you outed me to my mother' charade that he had concocted. Everyone and their indecently assaulted mailmen knew that Sebastian was gay, so this story was ridiculous! And the more Kurt rehearsed it, the worse it sounded!

It was like Finn trying to practice their number for Nationals and just when you thought he couldn't get any worse, he accidentally broke a lamp and nearly set the whole house on fire!

As he took a sip of his smoothie and re-inspected the photo, Kurt's bright blue eyes lit up when he noticed that Sebastian made a seriously fundamental error.

He was holding a shake in one hand that Kurt didn't immediately notice because he had stupid French notes in the same hand. But it was a packaged _weight gaining protein shake_. Kurt was sure he had never met an anorexic willingly buying protein shakes that were designed to help them put on weight. And this was _not_ an Ensure, or in Sebastian's case, a Pediasure—which he could claim was given to him by a physician to help him put on the weight _because he was so underweight and anorexic and sad and snowflake-like please feel sorry for me I am a victim and have suffered a lot_. This shake was a popular, off-the-counter weight supplement that skinny guys like Mike Chang used to bulk up.

Kurt felt like he had won the lottery. He had only been 'tailing' Sebastian for about four days—this last shopping trip was a complete coincidence—and he had already enough photos to discount his 'eating disorder.'

He had pictures of Sebastian in his fast food wrapper filled car. He had pictures of him eating artery-clogging McDonald's fries. He had pictures of Sebastian wearing baggy clothes that made him look like he was not even slightly underweight. He had photos of Sebastian sleeping in his car with his shirt off, showing that he was nowhere near as skinny as the _DEHYDRATED, NEAR DEATH_ pictures that he posted online for sympathy!


	16. Chapter 16

_guys, don't worry about Kurt. i am hoping to redeem him... well, that's the plan anyway! :)_

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Sixteen

* * *

Sebastian had never been more terrified in his life. He half wanted to drive to Dave to see him for a little bit, but he was sure if he drove to Dave Karofsky's house again, the guy was going to commit a serious felony.

So here Sebastian was, knocking on the door of this house smack in the middle of fucking nowhere with the intent to see his father for the first time in _years_. To say that he was dreading it was an absolute understatement.

Even now, Sebastian could envision the heaps of unfinished, dirty laundry—endless piles of white shirts turned grey-almost-muddy-and-black and button-downs with sweat stains bigger than the size of dinner plates burning his nostrils. He could see the grease awaiting him in the kitchen, along with its normal accompaniment of large, eager arthropods eating up three-week-old stale, mouldy pizza slices. He could almost smell the unmistakable scent of body odour wafting from the tattered, ashen-grey couch that his father claimed as his shrine.

When Sebastian's father opened the door, his bright sea-green eyes stung a little.

He couldn't help it. Sebastian was already whimpering, his stomach lurching, and his head felt like it was filled with rotten cotton and wispy spider webs. In his nightmares, he saw large roaches chasing after Pizza Hut.

 _This was not fair. This was not fair._ _This was not fucking fair_.

Sebastian walked inside in a house that mirrored the one that fucking hellhole of a place that they had in France. Nice.

So basically, he just walked into a place that practically reminded him of the darkest points of his life. He was also immediately assaulted by the amazing vision of a giant pan of fettuccine alfredo absolutely covered in nasty fucking… _maggots_. Those things that ate through decayed _bodies_ were eating away at that limp, dry pasta.

Yes, there were _MAGGOTS_. In the fucking _PASTA_.

When Sebastian moved closer into the centre of the room and saw that the couches had been stabbed with what looked like knives and there were tissues covered with body fluids, he had his first panic attack since he was fourteen.

His father used to throw stab couches and beds with knives just because he'd been having a fight.

The bodily fluids? His shockingly consistent infidelity.

Sebastian's heart started to beat very loudly into his ears, his chest tightening so much he felt like he couldn't breathe.

His whole body alternated from hot and cold, beads of sweat were running down his forehead. He could feel his head thumping along with his aching heart. His stomach was churning, and he felt like he was going to either faint or die.

Sebastian suddenly felt very, very fat. He knew that he was practically wasted, but he _felt_ fat.

He felt like he did when he was a child. He could remember how it felt like to cram KitKat pieces down his throat, even though his stomach hurt, and he hated how much chocolate was melting off his fat, stubby fingers.

Sebastian didn't stay in that house for longer than five minutes before he tossed his bag somewhere, and he left without explaining to his father where he was bolting to. Sebastian was speeding – not caring if he was going to die, partially hoping that he'd hit something hard and big and suddenly go into a four-day fucking _coma_.

He tried to push away the suicidal thoughts plaguing his mind.

Sebastian automatically drove to the Lima Bean. He parked his car, and he was panting heavily still.

He genuinely thought that this wasn't a panic attack anymore. He was having a heart attack and it was fucking induced by all the fucking gross, disgusting, fattening _things_ that he'd been eating—

They would cut him on the inside and see how fat he was.

Sebastian didn't notice how badly he was clutching onto his stomach, so much so that his skin started to become red. Suddenly, his originally skinny thighs morphed into these bulging caverns of white, hot fat.

He looked back and saw all the fast food wrappers at the foot of his car and felt all the fat rolls in his body expand.

Sebastian didn't notice how he was holding onto his ears, like he was trying to block out sounds.

He crouched down to his knees, still panting heavily. He didn't want to die like this. Covered in fast food wrappers and thighs that looked like they belonged to a giant, hormonally injected, corn-fed fucking cow.

Trying to distract himself, Sebastian decided to scroll through Facebook.

What? He didn't have anyone to call. Sebastian was sure that they either thought he was talking mid-sex or mid-run (trying to run off his giant legs of course. Seriously? _How_ the hell was his size small pants hanging off him? Did his wobbly ass and tree-trunk thighs already stretch them out?).

Truth was nobody would ever believe that he, Sebastian Smythe, was having a panic attack.

Jeff having a salad. A _diet_ ad. Trent embarking on a new diet plan involving eating as little carbs as possible—

Sebastian felt unsafe suddenly in his fat suit and car. He felt his hands trembling as he held his phone into his arms.

A _BUMU_ post nearly made Sebastian pass out in his car.

 _'Kurt Hummel, as our undercover investigator, has unveiled the fact that our super sad anorexic Sebastian Smythe might not be super sad and anorexic after all. Fries before guys, isn't that right, Sebastian?'_

Sebastian felt like he was living in a nightmare. There were pictures of himself in his car _ASLEEP_ and shirtless (which had to be some sort of violation of fucking privacy because contrary to popular belief, he didn't just walk around buck naked in situations where clothing wasn't mandatory). There were pictures of Sebastian eating disgusting carbohydrate-dense junk food, and he just realised how _disgusting_ he looked like when he was eating.

Sebastian tossed his phone aside and just hugged himself, burying his head into his knees.

He wanted to manslaughter them. Each one of them was worse than the other. And yet, he was the fucking bad guy.

Look at them. They destroyed his fucking life. They absolutely shattered whatever was left of it, and they got to walk away being known as these nice people that did only did good. _GOOD?_ Just today, Sebastian was assaulted by images of maggot-infested pasta, had a panic attack, and discovered his body was plastered all over the internet.

Scrolling through all the comments made him feel sick. He had felt the lowest of the low, knowing he didn't have a home and had to sleep in the back of his stupid car. And they were _laughing_ at it.

Sebastian was sure that there was a place in hell for people like Kurt fucking Hummel.

How could he convince so many people that he was so harmless anyway?

Sebastian felt his shoulders slump, and tears form into his eyes. He was sure that he'd cried before today – the days were becoming all a blur to him. He was afraid that people would take pictures of him crying and then make jokes about how it was because Weight Watchers didn't feel like they could handle all that doughnut-induced fluff.

The sadness in his chest turned into anger. Instead of driving back to his father's house, he drove to the nearest Pizza Hut drive-through. He got himself the largest stuffed crust pepperoni pizza, with mozzarella sticks, two gigantic boxes of garlic bread, and two-litre Coke. Sebastian felt disgusting having these fast food wrappers everywhere in his car. He didn't even want it the second he ordered it, and the smell of fat and carbs was making him sick. Sebastian parked his car, and he immediately tore into the mozzarella sticks. With each mouthful, he felt even more disgusted at himself. He hated himself. He wished he was dead, but like he'd fucking kill himself. Like he'd let them think he was just _copying_ Karofsky. Every time he swallowed, he could practically feel heartburn. By the time he finished the box of mozzarella sticks, he was _stuffed_. But he ate and ate and ate until the food was making him drowsy, disgusted and sick.

He'd managed to inhale everything around him in fifteen minutes. Sebastian was torn between feeling like he was about to burst, spilling fat droplets everywhere in his car, and feeling that familiar empty feeling in his body when his father slammed him into the wall and punched the shit out of him for forgetting to clean the kitchen sink when he knew that Sebastian was absolutely fucking terrified of all the insects! Of course, he didn't wash that—

As the thoughts rolled into his head, Sebastian sobbed into his thighs. Tomorrow… he was starting a _diet_.


	17. Chapter 17

**Eat Your Words**

Chapter Seventeen

* * *

Sebastian's head was pounding, and he could see starry cocks dancing in front of his eyes.

His head was swollen, which Hummel thought probably now matched his swollen ego… or his gigantic dick.

"How could you fucking _FAIL_ calculus?" his father waved his report card in front of Sebastian's face. Huh. Dalton _still_ didn't know how to spell his last name—go fucking figure. Jean slammed his big, black boot into Sebastian's face, which he was sure that Jean only wore because he wanted to give Sebastian nasal deformities. _"WELL?"_

Sebastian cupped his nose, watching pools of blood seep into his hands. Damn. He had to cancel his date tonight!

 _"ASNWER ME, YOU STUPID WASTE OF FUCKING SPACE!"_ his father yelled at him, and Sebastian snorted.

Yeah, he was wasting space all right—space that could be adequately utilised as the third rotten pizza box of the day, or those fun mice that Sebastian had to look at this morning when he was washing his face, or those gigantic, dead bugs that were lying on his stomach when he woke up that morning.

"It's hard. It got _numbers_ in it," the only numbers Sebastian was an expert about was how much fat was in avocadoes.

"I'll help you," Jean said, and then he socked him in the eye. Sebastian squirmed, feeling the impact of that hard fist against his already swollen, tender eye. His jaw sort of hurt too. Great. "That's _ONE_. Got that?"

Sebastian slowly nodded his head mutely. "Yeah," he said in a soft voice.

By the time they got to twenty-five, Sebastian was sure that he was going to have to get to the ER for internal bleeding. His blows went from his face down to his lower stomach, and now, his whole stomach was tender and cramping.

"I'm fucking tired," Jean wasn't too tired to pick up Sebastian by his arm and toss him aside. "Go study."

He was going to have to retake calculus in the summer, and his swollen head wouldn't be able to absorb _anything_.

Jean slumped back to the couch after, downing down alcohol faster than Sebastian took in oxygen. Sebastian was no lightweight by any means, but if he tried to put away what his father drank daily, then he'd be in a coma by now.

Sebastian gripped tightly on his stomach, which was killing him. His head pounded, like Thor just accidentally dropped his hammer over his head. His thrift store sweatshirt, baggy on his frame, had more holes and tears than a slice of Swiss. There were still starry cocks dancing in front of his eyes, and they had worse moves than Hudson.

His father must be real tired. Today, he forgot to remind Sebastian that his mother tried to abort him _twice_.

Sebastian didn't have time to be worried about his father. He had make-up to cake on his face, so he could spend his time tomorrow making fun of Hummel for caking make-up on his face.

When he got upstairs, he was enveloped with a sudden, crushing loneliness in his chest so he did something stupid.

Sebastian called Nick Duval so that he could talk to him about how sad and lonely and not at all aborted that he was.

"Hey," Sebastian answered when Nick picked up the phone. "How are you?"

"Do you actually care about that?" was Nick's response. Wow. Who slammed their boot into his fucking face?

Sebastian straightened himself and smirked, as if Nick was standing in front of him. "I thought you was supposed to be nice, Nicky. What happened? Your blond, anorexic boyfriend ain't interested in giving you head tonight?"

"You'd know all about _anorexia_ , wouldn't you, Sebastian?" Nick's voice went colder. "Huh?"

A steely feeling formed into Sebastian's stomach, as he collapsed on his bed. This could either be because Nick's words really hit him home (what home? He didn't call this mice-infested cardboard box a fucking home), or because he'd been eating salads with no dressing and running longer than he'd ever run before cause he got fat overnight.

Sebastian ran his hand through his hair. "Listen, Duval—"

"No, _YOU_ listen!" Nick was screeching over the phone. "You shopped your pictures for sympathy and told everyone you were practically dying from a fucking eating disorder just so people could give a shit about _you_ , Sebastian!"

Sebastian's hand was shaking. He didn't technically shop his post-diuretic sucking-in-stomach pics.

"You are not _that_ thin anyway," Nick hissed at him coldly. "Your giant ego keeps you from floating away."

"Huh," Sebastian shook his head. "How about I lose twenty pounds? Maybe then I can fit in your boyfriend's jeans."

"At least my boyfriend was never the size of _a FUCKING HOUSE!_ " Nick replied coldly, every word piercing into Sebastian's head. "Did you know most people that have to lots of weight eventually end up putting it back on anyway? With all the junk Kurt found you eating, I'm sure that you'll just be eventually another statistic. Do you know what a _statistic_ is? I heard that you're not too good with numbers." _These guys were nice? Seriously?_

Sebastian's lip trembled. What could he say? _I was homeless for a week? I ate something every two days? I didn't want to buy a salad because I was fucking terrified of losing weight? I don't know where to buy smaller pants…which I can't even afford?_

He said something back. And he didn't care. "Your mother would be shocked at the way you're acting, Duval."

Sebastian knew that was cold. Nick's mother died. Last year. _Of_ _brain cancer._

Nick went silent on the line. And then, in a soft, serious voice he said, "You're a fucking monster." He then hung up.

Whatever. At least he had his loving father, who thrust a knife into Sebastian's hand yesterday after telling him to kill himself. For tonight's dinner, Sebastian was having air because there was no way that he was eating the cesspool of grease his father made. He watched his father coat he saucepan with _FIVE_ heaping tablespoons of butter.

Sebastian was sure there was less grease in his _hair products_ , which he kept hidden under the sink.

If his father discovered Sebastian used a _woman's_ silicone-free, sulphate-free shampoo and spent forty-five minutes every day at five in the morning flat ironing his hair before using a volume diffuser then he'd probably have his hair torn out of its roots. Hell, Sebastian would probably have to choke on his father's shit-stained underpants if he even tried to impart the idea into his father's head that he knew what a volume diffuser _did_ , much less how to use one.

But Sebastian couldn't just _stop_ his normal hair routine.

If he stopped, then people would _know_ that he had a hair routine to begin with, and that was one step away from finding out he curled his eyelashes sometimes, did his nails or smeared makeup on his face to hide the gigantic purple-blue bruises that his father gifted him with every time Sebastian did something wrong. Like take up his oxygen.

 _Boyfriend was a little rough last night, Sebastian?_ He could envision the _BUMU_ group saying. _Or tired of faking anorexia? Trying to fake domestic abuse now? How about being a victim of sexual assault? Cancer? Come on, Seb. Go big or go home._

Sometimes, Sebastian wished he had something illegal to do to complete his picture of pettiness. But the only coke Sebastian would snort was Coca-Cola, and alcohol had too many liquid calories. Besides, he didn't want to balloon about a hundred pounds overnight, right? He couldn't disappoint Nick like that!

Great thing his conversation with Nick eradicated that gnawing hunger in his stomach. Well, it didn't, but Sebastian was too fucking pissed at himself to even consider pouring a few tablespoons of balsamic vinegar on his rabbit leaves.

It had been two weeks since his pizza binge, and Sebastian sometimes felt like he'd lost weight. Sometimes, he felt he was about to pop a button if he didn't suck in when he tried to put on his new blue jeans— _oversized_ blue jeans. Sebastian was also feeling lightheaded. He didn't know how when he was trying to keep his weight up by eating huge slabs of chocolate, he looked _skinny_ , but when he was eating nothing but kale and spent his time running around the house in circles, he looked three seconds away from inviting Jabba the Hutt down for a Thai food binge.

Sebastian wondered what Dave Karofsky's phone number was. He wished he could go back in time before the kid tried to off himself and give him head. Then he'd know Dave's phone number.

He felt bad about what he said to Nick—just a little. Contrary to belief, he wasn't completely ruthless.

But why the hell did he care about what he said to Nick anyway? It wasn't like Nick cared about what he told Sebastian. He couldn't even ask the fucking guy how he was without being accused of being a chronic asshole. Come on. Even a dick like him had manners. Always open the door for knocked up women and always swallow when you're giving head. _See?_ Sebastian was _almost_ an upstanding citizen… As Sebastian laid in his bed, he heard his father yelling at him. Telling him he'd make him eat dirt if he bought another box of kale again.


	18. Chapter 18

**Eat Your Words**

Chapter Eighteen

* * *

After missing the first few days of summer school because he was in the ER with a facial swelling that made them think he needed adrenaline stat (bad idea), Sebastian was on his way to Dalton. Three hours late to his first class.

His swelling had gone down, and he had more layers of foundation than a Photoshopped image in _Cosmopolitan_.

Sebastian knew that most of the Warblers stayed in the dorms this summer because they wanted to repay Blaine for helping them with their exams— _GAG_ , so he was fucking livid at the thought of potentially running into special snowflake Nick Duval after their last talk. Nick will probably take his time reminding Sebastian how much of a fucking victim he was because he made that comment about his mom. His comment probably still hurt Nick deeply, and the gay police was going to make him suck on three gorilla-sized dicks today as punishment for his _terrible crimes_.

By the way, Nick's mother was a _bitch!_ Nick reminded the Warblers how much he hated her every single day. He didn't attend one fucking chemotherapy session with her, but after she died, she suddenly became an angel.

What kind of fucking asshole didn't drive his mom to her chemotherapy sessions?

Sebastian remembered feeling like he wanted to beat Nick's sports car with a crowbar when he found _that_ one out.

Speaking of cars and crowbars, he immediately slammed his feet onto the brake and nearly rammed his head into his steering wheel when another car cut him off when it abruptly switched lanes.

 _For the love of gay princesses in fucking drag!_ Seriously?

The car that nearly flattened him into a fat-free pancake (which was, incidentally, thinner than a normal one. Well, Sebastian's was yesterday because he didn't add bananas— _like he'd add more CARBS to his breakfast!_ ) was now at a stop light, and Sebastian sped towards it. Sebastian wasn't letting some asshole with a sleek Jeep do _that_ to him.

"Fucking dick!" Sebastian yelled after rolling down his windows. "Who did _YOU_ have to blow to get a licence?"

Rolling down the window of a shiny, pretty-looking Jeep was a pissed off Dave Karofsky. Hey, blue really was his colour. Sebastian felt his cheeks colour in as he clutched his hands tightly behind the wheel.

"What the hell are you doing here, Smythe?" Dave really didn't like Sebastian's flowers. " _Are you stalking me?"_

"No, I…" Sebastian turned redder than a virgin being subdued into a hand job. "I live here." Yeah. Seriously.

How the hell was he supposed to explain to Dave Karofsky in his white-picket fence house ten minutes from here that he actually lived _here?_ When everyone that was anyone knew that his father owned a multimillion dollar corporation, they didn't know that his father hated himself. When Jean Smythe came home with his pressed Armani suit and pretty suitcase ( _real_ leather of course), he wasn't coming home to a golden mansion with gorgeous ivory couches and a flower garden—he was coming home to a shack infested with mice because he didn't think he deserved any better.

It was sad, you know. Except for the fact that he punched Sebastian when he found out his wife was cheating on him. Jean wasn't all that bad—he didn't hit _women_. But his son should still take it like a man.

"You?" Dave stared at him incredulously. "You live… _here?"_ Sebastian didn't know Davey got a hearing problem.

Sebastian slowly nodded his head, as swallowed the lump in his throat. "That's right, big guy."

He shouldn't have eaten breakfast, because if he didn't eat breakfast, he wouldn't feel so nauseous.

"Like I believe that!" Dave replied with a cold tone. "Look, Smythe. You were cute before I realised you were a fucking psychopath. Now, _stop… following… me_. Or I'm calling the cops on you and it ain't gonna be pretty. Got it?"

Sebastian slowly nodded his head. Funny. Dave still liked Hummel, who was still a psychopath.

"I wasn't following you," Sebastian replied, but by then Dave sped off cause the stop light turned green.

When Dave took a turn, Sebastian continued straight to get to the road to Westerville. His hands were clammy and cold, and he didn't feel so hot no more. Truth was: he probably really _liked_ Dave. Well, he had no trouble relating to this big guy that didn't got nobody rooting for him—the guy that tried to kill himself cause things got too heavy too fast. Before he came to Ohio, Sebastian didn't know that you could get people to like you when you were still big.

 _Nobody liked you when you were small either_ , a voice in his head said. _You're fucking unloveable._

He didn't even have a face that only mother could only love… cause his mother kicked him out of the house.

Everything was so much easier when he was too busy stuffing himself with pizzas piping hot straight after his mom put them in the oven (with extra cheese of course) or when he was gorging on his third candy bar in the day in front of his favourite cartoons whilst covered in cushions. The first time his father beat him up, Sebastian went downstairs at three in the morning, cried and ate half of the lasagna pan to soothe the pain in his chest.

Sebastian remembered getting up on the shiny scale when he was thirteen. He was sent at home with a letter saying that he was way beyond the 99th centile and that the school nurse told him to go to a doctor. Sebastian was so happy because getting more than a 99 on his school report meant a _lot_ , but that was before the teach leaned down (he was a real short kid) and explained to him that that meant that more than 99 percent of kids were skinnier than him. As in… _everyone else_. It broke him because he'd been so excited to go to this new school because he believed that this year he was going to make friends, but on his first day of school, _he broke the chair_ … _AND_ the desk.

Sebastian actually thought that the teachers really liked them too until they overheard them talking about how they thought that all the fat from his grilled cheeses (which Sebastian made with mayonnaise _and_ butter) was going to clog up his tiny, thirteen-year-old arteries and he'd die from a heart attack before he even got to prom.

He parked his car far, cause he liked to get in that extra walk. He was so hungry that morning that he couldn't get away with not eating nothing, so he snagged a _full-fat_ coffee with a banana, one of the carbiest fruits ever.

It was either that, or a half-eaten chocolate fudge cake and an industrial-sized bag of Cool Ranch Doritos.

Sebastian walked all the way in his baggy as hell Dalton uniform. He had to cut up some of the waist and stitch it up himself. You know, yesterday, he looked a picture of himself when these pants fit, and he looked _thin_. But now, the same pants were threatening to drop off his hips and he felt the fattiest slice of cow chow he'd ever laid eyes on.

As he walked up to his class, all Sebastian could think about was the teachs back in France making that comment about him not making it to prom. Sebastian bit down his lower lip. He'd never even gone to a school dance before. He always told people that he had better shit to do than go to homecoming dances, but he'd _never_ gotten invited to one even after he lost weight. Sebastian always told everyone that he was gay just so that they knew that he was available, but like anyone did anything with _that_ information. He was sure when he got skinny, he was going to have dates, but even _TRENT_ had a date to the homecoming dance. _WITH A GUY. A REALLY GOOD-LOOKING GUY._

Nick Duval, was of course, in the cafeteria where Sebastian passed by to get another cup of coffee. Black this time. Of course, Nick and Trent (who was eating bagel—Sebastian _wanted_ carbs so bad). Nick's face turned red in an instance.

"Smythe," he said, coldly. Sebastian had Nick's order memorised: a concoction that had more fat than Butterfingers.

"Duval," Sebastian snorted, and asked the barista for a black. _No milk or sugar_. "Are you _still_ pissed at me? Get over it."

"My mother _DIED_ , Sebastian," Nick said. "What kind of sick, twisted person would make that comment?"

"Oh?" Sebastian raised an eyebrow. He didn't care. "I didn't know there. I thought I let you take all that time off last year because your boyfriend got his dick stuck into your preppy ass."

Trent was staring at Sebastian, agape. "His mom—"

"Croaked…How sad!" Sebastian cut Trent off, rolling his eyes. "Yet you didn't even bother going to the funeral."

 _"He did!"_ Trent replied, and he shook his head. "I had to pick him up after at a—"

"You're fucking deluded," Sebastian took his coffee and contemplating momentarily if he should add milk. It was only a couple of calories, right? " _I_ went to the damn thing myself. I _know_ that Pretty Nicky wasn't there."

"Is that true?" Trent looked at Nick, with a confused expression.

Nick didn't know what to say to that. "Why did you go?" he looked confused. "Yeah, I didn't actually—"

Sebastian drank a sip of his coffee. This stuff was _disgusting_. "What? I heard the rest of your pretty Warblers friends were too busy," he asked. "You thought I was letting you go by yourself, Duval? I ain't _that_ big of a dick," he then left.


	19. Chapter 19

_i feel so bad. every time i post a chapter, i just make life worse for Sebastian (but come on, it's fun to write!)... i do have some nice plans though! the next chapter is a little nicer!_

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Nineteen

* * *

A week ago, The Unofficial Warblers WhatsApp group received a message from Nick threatening to set Sebastian on fire. Over the course of fifteen minutes, he also added on _it won't even take him time to burn because he's a twig_.

Kurt felt envious. _He_ wanted to be called a _twig_.

Nick could not send this to The Official Warblers WhatsApp group, which Sebastian managed.

Needless to say, 90% of _that_ group was Sebastian trying to tell Blaine to come to the next Warbler practice, because he had a _special song_ just for him and Blaine politely declining. Kurt was, indeed, a part of _that_ group, because Sebastian liked to give him an Insult of the Day. Today's: _nice profile picture, Hummel. How was your Botox yesterday?_

This was quickly followed by: _PS. Can you recommend me a hairdresser? I want to look REALY queer when I go out tonight, so that when I can get beat up, I can blame it on the fact that I am a gay victim instead of admitting that I probably shouldn't dress up in tutus in a homophobic town. :) Seriously, Hummel, can you shop in the men's section for once?_

That morning, Kurt then tried to explain to him—in no less than 600 words—that people should be okay with what he was wearing. If he wanted to wear a tutu, he should be able to do so without receiving public judgment!

When this wavered no response from Sebastian (and was probably humouring him), Kurt decided to go the extra mile.

 _Also, that's coming from you, Smythe,_ Kurt typed back. _How about YOU stick to shopping in the men's section next time?_

Of course, he sent the picture of Sebastian buying his first pair of female pants. It was so obvious they were feminine. All that was missing was rhinestones all over the ass and floral decals stitched to the sides. That shut Sebastian up, but the rest of the Warblers seemed to have oodles of fun making fun of him in the last few hours.

Kurt felt a little bad because they were missing the bigger picture. Sebastian had to go into a different section completely to buy pants because he couldn't find any smaller pants in the men's section.

The idea of a six-foot-two Sebastian being able to swap clothes with five-foot-two Rachel was disturbing.

As he came back to reality, Kurt tried to find out the root of Nick's anger.

Oh, and it wasn't because he was bored of reading his Chemistry notes and wanted something to entertain him. Well, in Kurt's defence, YouTube videos on skin regimens could only entertain him for so long before his brain melted off.

When Nick said that Sebastian told him that _his mother would be shocked at the way that he was acting_ , Kurt's brain really did melt into a pile of discombobulated goo. He was absolutely amazed at how one person could _just not care_. He even tried to envision Sebastian telling _that_ to him—he'd have wrangled that smirky meerkat with his father's wrench in no time. And it had been _YEARS_ since his mother died. He couldn't imagine how Nick felt!

In other news, the Unofficial Warbler Group mentioned that there would be a breakfast at 9:00 on a Sunday morning n Dalton, Kurt _very_ eagerly put on his best pants, scarf, and shirt ensemble—with a matching satchel.

He had no problem driving all the way there, because Blaine was accompanying him, and they had very heated discussions: first starting with the romantic comedy starring Katherine Heigl they watched last weekend, then followed by an avid discussion about which were better: dogs or cats and then the closing that was an argument was about _Chinese_ (yes) politics—which Kurt admittedly realised he did not know about nearly half as much as Blaine did.

Kurt stuffed himself with chocolate cheesecake French toast and then washed it down with a nonfat mocha.

By the time that it was 11:00, Kurt really regretted eating _all those carbs_ , but figured he'd digest them at some point today. He could also go for a quick facial afterwards to help perk up his mood. And he promised Mercedes he'd reread her English report to find out what she got right and wrong. Oh, and at night, he'd play some Fantasy Football, which he was most definitely _not_ interested in (if anyone asked). It was like his dirty secret. That, and the fact that he found Sebastian Smythe's standard scent of One Million _intoxicating_ … especially on him!

Sebastian Smythe walked into the room just as Nick and Trent went to refill on highly calorific concoctions.

If Kurt felt fat then, he felt like he'd gained about a million pounds. As Sebastian moved, Kurt realised how seriously oversized his Dalton clothes were—and if Kurt tried, he wouldn't be able to fit a leg in Sebastian's clothes. The clothes that were about one second from landing into _a heap on the floor_. He had to be using a very extraordinary belt because his extra-small pants looked like they were one second away from falling from his teeny-tiny hips.

Kurt was almost about to intrude on Nick, Trent and Sebastian's conversation before Sebastian left with his coffee.

Nick slumped towards the table, looking so white he was almost translucent.

"Whatever he said, Nick," Jeff began, looking overprotective over his black-haired vegan boyfriend, who was drinking a medium hazelnut macchiato made with soy milk (and an extra shot), "he isn't right. He's a fucking bastard. He—"

Nick cut him off with a soft voice. _"He came to my mom's funeral,"_ he folded in on himself.

Kurt did not know what to say about this. He recalled that Nick asked the Warblers a year before if they could come with him because he didn't think he could go by himself. He was a wreck after he found out about it. Kurt and Blaine couldn't because they were not even in the state. Kurt had to visit his cousins who lived in Indiana and Blaine went to Spain for Cooper's wedding. The rest of the Warblers were all busy—Jeff had a family function that night that he couldn't get out of though he tried, and Trent had just been to the dentist on the same day and he still couldn't feel his mouth from all the lidocaine. Thad agreed to go last minute but cancelled because his mother grounded him after she found out he'd gotten an _A_ instead of an _A+_ on his last history report (yes, _seriously_.)

They had that conversation in the Lima Bean (on the day that they were passing around free doughnuts to anyone that was remotely bicurious). Kurt should've known at that point that Sebastian was a health freak because he could vividly remember one of the baristas immediately giving him a 'healthy' whole-wheat doughnut with blueberries.

All Kurt could remember thinking was: _how many baristas did that meerkat sleep with to get his own doughnut!_

Kurt was very worried at that time. He did not want any of his favourite baristas to catch Irretractable Sebastard Syndrome—or ISS for short. Whenever he remembered that abbreviation, he wished that someone would send Sebastian into space. He didn't even _need_ oxygen to live. He merely subsisted on his hatred of anything glittery.

" _I_ didn't come to my mom's funeral," Nick explained, not meeting anyone's eyes. Jeff reached for his boyfriend's shoulder, squeezing it softly. "Because I didn't have anyone to go with me. I mean… like my father went and so did my brothers, but I didn't have anything there that I knew was there for _me_. So, I didn't go. I didn't even think about asking Sebastian Smythe. I obviously didn't think he'd just suddenly turn up to my mom's funeral."

Jeff's cheeks coloured in. "Oh," he said. "But he said those things about your mom being shocked and—!"

"So what?" Nick asked, raising an eyebrow. "I neglected to say what _I_ told _him_ before to get him to say that."

Kurt watched Nick stab an apple in his fruit salad before lifting it to his mouth. He'd been eating soy yoghurt, vegan bean brownies that Jeff made for him, and these nice spinach pastries. "It couldn't have been that bad."

Nick's face was stone-like. "I called him out for shopping his pictures for sympathy and telling everyone that he was dying from an eating disorder just for attention. Then I told him that he's not _that_ thin." Kurt flinched at that thought, because Sebastian _was_ that thin. "Then he made fun of Jeff, who he thinks is thinner than him." Jeff looked deeply disturbed by this thought and he shook his head immediately. "So I told him that _at least_ Jeff didn't used to be 'the size of a house'! After which I told him that fat people that lose loads put it back on eventually and that with the way he ate—you know from the photos that you posted on Facebook, he's going to end up gaining all his weight back."

"Nick, no, come on!" Jeff didn't look so happy. "You didn't actually say _that_ , did you? You're better than that."

Nick nodded his head. " _I_ started it," he admitted. _This_ was information that they didn't know before. Kurt was under the impression that Sebastian just walked up to him and thought it'll be fun to tell him his dead mother hated him!

Blaine looked shocked. "Nick, are you _trying_ to make him sick?" he looked appalled. Kurt knew that Blaine still wasn't that convinced that Sebastian didn't have an eating problem based on how he looked and honestly, sometimes, Kurt wasn't convinced he'd done the right thing. "Seriously, how would any of you guys feel if you lost a lot of weight after being seriously overweight and started to look like Sebastian and…then-then Nick said something like _that_ to you?"

Plus, Sebastian was technically _homeless_ the time that Kurt chose to stalk him, but nobody said anything about _that_.

"Honestly, _I_ would never lose that much! Not even unintentionally!" Trent cringed. " _Plus_ , my mom would kill me."

Kurt suddenly thought of Sebastian's mother—a sweet lady that baked them warm, chocolate-cookies (and wouldn't let them leave the house without a plate of them!) but somehow let her son's weight plummet to dangerous levels. Why didn't she feed _Sebastian_ plates of chocolate-chip cookies? Didn't she care that he lost _all that weight?_


	20. Chapter 20

**Eat Your Words**

Chapter Twenty

* * *

Nick couldn't believe that he invited _Sebastian Smythe_ out shopping with him and Jeff that Saturday afternoon.

 _You want me to spend the afternoon with you ridiculing you on your clothing choices?_ Sebastian texted back.

Nick was put off by the idea of Sebastian commenting on him trying to squeeze himself in fake leather _("it's a good thing you don't wear REAL leather, Duval. There are cows out there crying about the debauchery your thighs do to leather"_ )

 _I know what you're doing_ , Sebastian added on. _You want to purge your fucking conscience. You don't actually WANT me there._

Nick wanted to tell him that it wasn't about what happened a week ago— _but it was_.

 _That's not true! I just thought it'll be fun_ , Nick lied. He didn't _want_ Sebastian to be anywhere near his weekend plans (being around him during the week was enough of a chore) but he had to at least _TRY_ to be nicer to Sebastian. _And we can get ice-cream afterwards,_ he then realised how stupid it sounded to tell that to a guy that faked an eating disorder.

 _Fine_ , Sebastian replied. _But I ain't gonna be nice just because you 'think it'll be fun' if I decorate your boyfriend's neck with Oreo creme and tell him that you must've come all over him and forgot to clean him up. You're vegan, right? You must eat a lot of pineapple, so I guess it ain't that fucking shocking if your gay glitter gunk tastes like a diabetic's nightmare anyway._

Nick knew that he _HAD_ to apologise to him, but Sebastian was already making it wish he could punch him in the face!

Nick tried to remind himself that he practically told Sebastian that no matter how hard he tried, he'd still end up choking on his own lard and probably succumb to a stroke at thirty because he was always going to be fat no matter how much went he lost. Sebastian was right. Nick's mother _would_ be ashamed of him for saying that to _anyone_.

Even to kids that put your best friend in the hospital after _nearly blinding him_.

" _You're_ the one that has to apologise to him," Jeff told him. "I don't see why he has to ruin my Saturday too."

Nick was always under the impression that the Warblers were nice people, but hearing _Jeff_ say that made his chest feel tight enough to use his Diskus. Two years ago, Jeff got into a fight with a guy because he was picking on a girl that had buckteeth. What happened to looking for _the best in everybody_ anyway? Was it lame to do that now?

"Nick, what's wrong?" Jeff asked, staring at him. Nick would've replied by now.

Nick just shook his head and leaned against a wall. He was wearing an old grey jacket that felt like home.

"Remember when I told you I swore off joining _any_ kind of Glee club because they all turn into these pretentious artsy types that can't see past themselves but… but you told me that the Warblers were different and that you don't even let your rock star status go to your heads?" Nick asked, and Jeff nodded his head, taking a sip of his Coke. "Well, it did."

Jeff seemed amused but didn't say anything. He looked at his watch instead. "Your new boyfriend, Sebastian, is late."

"By fifteen minutes," Nick said, but he was getting tired of waiting for him too. "You'd wait for Trent for hours."

After an hour had passed, Nick was starting to get annoyed, but still stuck by waiting for Sebastian at the bench just outside that shop that Jeff had been in for an hour. He'd kept on checking his phone so much that he believed that his fingers would dislocate from all the _where are you?_ and _Sebastian, if you're not coming, tell us. We've STILL waiting for you._

Nick was still texting when the Prince himself decided to grace them with his presence.

"My car broke down," Sebastian snorted. Nick believed him because he had a hard time believing that that lump of sad metal parts was still running. Nick made a bet to Jeff one that Sebastian's outdated iPhone, shattered Bentley and tattered Nike backpack would fall apart within the month. That was a _year_ ago. "If you were actually attractive, I'd say I'm one step closer to having a threesome with you two, but I actually have standards about where I put my dick."

Sebastian was in a pair of black jeans that smelled like a dead cow, and beige shirt that looked as new as McDonald's thrice recycled French fries. Oh, and Nick still found it strange when Sebastian wasn't in his Dalton clothes.

"Well, it's about time!" Jeff left the store he was at, without any bags. " _We're_ going to the Gap for new jeans."

They went to the Gap. It took Jeff all of three minutes to decide he didn't like how the clothes looked like.

Nick spent five minutes in a stationary shop and bought about _five_ expensive notebooks, even though he hoarded about twenty cute, empty notebooks in his dorm room. Then they spent the next three hours in a tiny local retail store that smelled like cardamom powder and whipped cream. Jeff was going to buy a knitted grey sweater that looked exactly like the knitted sweater that he was already wearing—except thicker, and a pair of black shoes that reminded Nick of that one time a dog peed on Jeff in the park, and he was in all-black.

"But _this_ is great," Jeff said, pulling a green cable-knitted sweater from a pile. "For Sebastian I mean."

"Let me guess," Sebastian said, rolling his eyes. He had his hands in his pocket. For the last three hours, he'd been aimlessly following them around. Nick had this feeling that Sebastian didn't like shopping. "It goes with my eyes?"

Nick wondered how many times Sebastian's been fed _that_ line. Too bad Sebastian was _so anorexic_ that—

"No, it doesn't go with your eyes," Jeff said. "It's literally the same colour as your eyes."

Sebastian's face contorted in disgust. "Way to make me want to scorch my fucking eyes out."

Jeff put the sweater down but when he went to pay for his sweater, he picked up the green sweater too—without even looking at the size—and then tossed on the counter. Nick could imagine why Jeff didn't bother looking at the size. He didn't have to worry about if something was _too small_ on Sebastian Smythe. And oversized sweaters were great.

Sebastian's ears were red. "I ain't wearing that, powder puff."

Jeff looked at his clothes, and then raised an eyebrow. "You'd rather go around in threadbare clothes, huh?"

Sebastian just shrugged, and Nick wondered why Sebastian's clothes were so old. It was like he looked through an old man's closet and picked up the stuff that didn't smell like it belonged in a time machine back to the 1950's. There was probably more history to those dead-black-cow pants that Sebastian wore than there was in _The Art of War_.

Jeff bothered getting it gifted for Sebastian, even though Sebastian knew what it was, and he didn't even want it. He'd wrapped it around in a pretty box with green wrapping paper and a green ribbon.

"Don't open this until you go home," Jeff instructed, and Nick had a feeling that Jeff slipped something else in.

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Sure, Sterling," he picked up the box, and pretended that he was going to open it. He laughed when he saw a vein jut out of Jeff's neck. "Calm down, princess. I ain't doing nothing."

When Sebastian said that he had to take a leak and left, Nick launched into his questions.

"That was really nice," Nick whispered to Jeff. "Getting Sebastian that sweater… what _else_ did you he get him?"

Jeff wasn't smiling. Nick should've known that whatever Jeff was going to say wasn't going to be nice.

"It's a _brochure_ ," Jeff said in a soft voice. "I had it in my bag after I talked to the counsellor at Dalton about Sebastian a while back," he explained to Nick. "It's-it's about-about… about _eating disorders_."

Nick didn't expect Jeff to tell him that.

"It's awful, isn't it?" Jeff looked at the ground. "I can't talk to him about it _for real_ , so I give him a brochure about it."

"You think that he…?" Nick didn't even know that Jeff thought that Sebastian had a problem.

Jeff stared at Nick vacantly. "Nick, do you really think that he's _that_ thin without a serious problem?" he asked him, sounding solemn and not bubbly and happy like usual. "Okay, fine. He lied. He shopped his images or something. And no, he's doesn't look like those pictures he posted of himself but he's _still_ literally making himself sick. I ignored it for the past few months. But when I saw him today and you said that thing about us letting us go to our head…"

Jeff's lips were trembling. "Nick, you're right. It _did_ go to our heads," he said. " _He's_ a Warbler too."

When they went to the mall to eat, Nick got himself a Subway sandwich and Jeff crammed his face full of this gigantic burger. Sebastian was picking at this little baked potato (with no cheese, bacon, sour cream, or even butter—even vegan Nick thought _that_ was a waste) and a salad. He'd been scoffing the salad, and very little of anything else. Sebastian wasn't even eating his fat-free potato. He was eating his salad leaves… without any dressing.

"You can tell us stuff, you know that… right?" Jeff asked, and Nick thought he saw something flash into Sebastian's eyes that he'd never seen before and then it hardened. That was when Sebastian didn't he wasn't hungry anymore.


	21. Chapter 21

**Eat Your Words**

Chapter Twenty-One

* * *

When Sebastian came back home that afternoon, he unwrapped the box and felt his heart beat ten times faster when he saw the eating disorder brochure. He flipped through it, and tried to read it, but his hands were shaking so much he couldn't. So instead, he laid down on his bed, clinging onto the new sweater with the _new sweater smell_ and cried in it.

 _You can tell us stuff, you know that… right?_ Jeff's words kept on banging into his head.

 _I lost my virginity about a year ago and he just ditched me_ , Sebastian wanted to say. _I hate him. I hate everyone._

Sebastian put the sweater back in the box, and then taped the wrapping back together. Because _that_ made fucking sense. He put the ribbon on too, like he hadn't torn right through it like a fucking monster. Sebastian didn't have anywhere safe to put the box—somewhere where those creepy crawlies wouldn't invade. _Gross_. His room gave him that suffocating feeling where it was so hot, and you felt like you didn't have enough air in your room—Sebastian honestly felt like he'd been choked on by the dick of humanity. And he didn't want his new shiny gift to be here.

Sebastian went downstairs, dressed in just his pyjama bottoms, and tossed the box into the back of his car.

He regretted it instantly the next morning when he woke up and then opened Facebook for the first time in ages.

They had a picture of him in his shitty fucking neighbourhood, in his Spiderman pyjama bottoms leaning over the car and it _looked_ like he had droopy stomach fat, but he didn't. It was just because he was… leaning down! _Is THAT what you're telling yourself, you fucking pig?_ Sebastian thought to himself bitterly. Right now, all he wanted to do was literally tear off his hair. These pictures were a far cry from the _diuretic death pictures_ that he posted of himself.

Sebastian couldn't help but read the comments and every one of them made him wish he could stab himself.

He thought that he was about to do something stupid, but then someone actually _called him!_ _HIM!_

He hoped it was someone that had enough balls to say what they wanted to say to his fucking face instead of typing it behind their pretty Facebook account miles away from Sebastian... _fucking_ _cowards!_

Sebastian picked up the phone without even looking at who was calling because his hands were sweaty, and he could hear his heart pounding in his fucking ears. Sebastian didn't get how he could look so fucking fat! He almost lost it when he read about how this guy _heard that Sebastian was so obsessed with pizza that he keeps day-old pizza grease in his bag_. A comment that amassed apparently _FIFTY-TWO likes_ , and thirty-fucking-two replies. There were fifty-two people that found it hilarious that Sebastian still couldn't get that oil slick smell out of his old Nike backpack.

"Sebastian?" it took him a few seconds to recognise that voice as Nick's. Nick Duval.

"What do you want?" Sebastian hissed back, and then he realised that that was how Nick greeted him too before. But at that time, Nick didn't _have_ a picture of him in his threadbare Spiderman pyjama bottoms leaning against a car, with his stomach out in display like that. Jeff gave him an eating disorder brochure—he bet that Blondie wished he could take it back now on account of Sebastian being a tub of _LARD_. " _I_ ain't gonna sleep with your boyfriend if that's what you're wondering. He gave me a sweater, not a fucking blowjob."

"N-n… _no_ ," Nick stuttered, and Sebastian could almost see his face getting red. "I'm sorry about the _BUMU_ post."

 _I'm sorry you're such a fat lazy pig like I predicted_ was all Sebastian could hear. "Why? Did you post it?"

"What?" Sebastian could imagine Nick getting even redder. Strawberry Nicky. _"_ Of course not! Do you think I did?"

"I was just asking," Sebastian mumbled. "Don't get your panties in a twist. Why else would you feel sorry for it?"

Sebastian could feel his heart thumping in his chest still, and his throat go dry. He wished he could throw himself off a window, if he wasn't sure that the _BUMU_ Facebook group wouldn't post about how fucking _dramatic_ he was.

"I mean I'm sorry that someone found it funny," Nick sounded annoyed. He was talking slow, anger entwined in every syllable that he said. "There? Does that please you, your highness?"

Sebastian forgot that he was in the phone for a minute because he was staring at the post. The more he looked at it, the more he morphed into this creature that had pounds and pounds of body fat hanging off his— _fuck_. He could feel wetness in his eyes. His ears were wet from all the fucking sweat, and his hands were still shaking.

"Sebastian?" Nick's voice was filled with concern. "Sebastian, are you okay?"

"Sure," Sebastian replied almost automatically. He actually wasn't sure what the question was.

Sebastian paused and then really looked at his picture. He could see little bruises on his arms from where his father recently held him down and socked him in his face (which currently sported a black-eye that he covered up with his mother's old, allergy-producing _MAC_ collection—which he took with him from the house along with three boxes of Twinkies that he fucking _hated_ ), and a mostly faded bruise on his side. Sebastian rubbed his back, where his father belted him a few times in the last twenty-four hours.

If _he_ was going to parade around shirtless, he got to be fucking careful or else the next fucking feature would be about how his new boyfriend didn't approve of his _fakeorexia_.

"Sebastian!" Nick's voice pulled Sebastian out of his thoughts. "Sebastian, you don't sound so good."

 _"I don't sound so good?"_ Sebastian reiterated. "I didn't say a fucking thing!"

"You're breathing real fast," Nick told him, and Sebastian wished he could obliterate his lungs. He supposed he couldn't say that he was on a run since it was blazing hot bull balls outside. The only way Sebastian would be out on a run right now was if he wanted to be sent to the hospital due to an impending heat stroke. "I'm about to leave the Lima Bean. I can get you some coffee if you want… how about if I can drive over to your area? Where do you live?"

Sebastian looked outside of the window. There wasn't anything _green_ where he lived. And they weren't preppy-looking Warblers with their expensive Lima Bean coffees, happily smiling sitting outside in the sunshine.

"Sebastian, I'm seriously worried about you. Blaine is too. We just want to see you," Nick tried to convince him. " _Come on!_ Don't… Don't make me ask the _BUMU_ Facebook guy where you live. Judging by their post frequencies, at least one of the administrators is active—and it doesn't seem like they value anyone's privacy."

Sebastian considered momentarily what kind of asshole knew where Sebastian lived _but didn't care_.

"I never had a guy this desperate to see my fucking bedroom," Sebastian smirked. "Get me a capp with soy."

He didn't send the address to his current 'home'— _get real_. The second that Nick Duval and Blaine Anderson saw his house, they'd cry because there were pieces of pepperoni permanently stuck onto the wall, glued by rat droppings and shattered photos of Sebastian, Lena and his mother. There were so many sticky patches in the floor that Sebastian had to retire his favourite pair of fucking shoes because they turned into radioactive from all the chemical waste they got clogged with. He kept his house jeans cropped and didn't plant his ass anywhere where there were amorphous green or yellow fluids. Well, most of the time. Unfortunately, it was a pretty unavoidable scenario.

Instead, Sebastian sent them the address for their mother's house.

He drove all the way there himself, and he knew that shit was about to go down. He didn't even bother changing from his loose Hulk pyjama bottoms, and mismatched oversized pink shirt. Which, of course, didn't look gay on him.

It took Sebastian about an hour to get there with his piece of shit car. He sent Blaine and Nick real unclear directions to the place that he called _his childhood home._ Sebastian looked over the mirror, fixed his make-up up to hide the purple-blue bruises just underneath the surface. Great. He looked like a fucking ghost with this foundation. He knocked on the door. Sebastian was calmer than he was in ages, knowing he wasn't going to face _the mould museum_ tonight.

Lena opened the door and she just stood there, staring at him with big brown eyes. She looked stunned.

 _"Sebastian?"_ Lena had just dropped the box of cookies that she was holding. She looked like she was about to break into those waterworks— _careful, Lena_. He got _AIDS_ after all. Just looking at him long enough would surely infect her and give horrific period-shits for the rest of her life _. "Oh my God!"_ she threw herself at him, sobbing.

 _It was almost like you weren't a fucking cunt to me when mom threw me out_ was what he wanted to say, but Sebastian decided to stay nice, so he could to prevent getting his fat, freckly ass flung out again. See? He was nice.

"Mom won't be home until later," Lena answered, sniffling. "Mom said Dad changed! I almost don't believe it!"

"Yeah," Sebastian invited himself in. "He's father of the fucking year," he said sardonically.

"And-and he doesn't do that stuff anymore?" Lena asked, and she sounded like she didn't really want an answer to that. She just wanted to convince herself that he learned the errors of his ways and now he only drank green juices and posed with pretty woman in big name magazines. Sebastian saw Jean hack up more green stuff than he saw him eat it. "So, it can't be _that_ bad, right…? Mom said that Dad said that you guys are doing okay. She was worried that he didn't change and-and that you were… she was worried that he might _do_ something to you like-like before!"

He cursed when he saw a carrot cake on the counter. Sebastian wished he could just throw that cake at her face.

"With the things that he used to do…" Lena shuddered. "It was horrifying! But now…maybe I can visit sometime!"

And taint her manicure over a roach-infested pit of doom? Sebastian would like to see that. "Sure. That'll be great."

Sebastian remembered seeing eleven-years-old Lena flinch when his father snapped his fat wrists like it was wafer-thin. He was _six_ years old and she just fucking stood there and _watched_ it happen. She left him lying alone on the fucking floor, _CRYING_ , when she was baking cupcakes for her class _. How fucking dare you tell me that he fucked YOU up?_

You know what? At least his mother gave enough of a shit to take him to the hospital. She made better cupcakes too!

"You look good," Lena suddenly propped him out of his thoughts and said something that made him want to hurl all over her fake Jimmy Choos. "It's good to see you with a little meat on you."


	22. Chapter 22

_this chapter took me ages to write! weeks! i've been staring at an empty page for a while... and suddenly, THIS was produced!_

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Twenty-Two

* * *

Sebastian was sat in the corner of the bathroom and Googled how he was supposed to get rid of his chick chesticles.

Or you know, where he could find a good tit holder that didn't cost about over thirty bucks! Sebastian snorted. Seriously. His portable pockets of dotty chest lard looked bigger than his sister's.

It was like the calories he ingested a decade ago were slowly attacking his fat ass _NOW_.

 _"Sebastian!"_ Lena's voice boomed through the walls. Sebastian smirked to himself. Later, he'd swap dick pics with her sexy, tit-loving Latin boyfriend to get back at he for being a prude cunt that used to let their dad throw him into the swimming pool… _ha!_ He couldn't swim. "Your friends are here!"

 _I don't have any fucking friends!_ Sebastian rolled his eyes, staring at his freckled ab flab. _I apparently fucking ATE THEM!_

He couldn't believe that photo the _BUMU_ Facebook page posted. The camera added ten pounds, right? Not a hundred!

Sebastian re-checked his make-up to make sure it was evener than his sister's fake orangutan tan. He was a real looker! He got the green eyes that went with his permanent scowl of contempt and jealousy. The muddy bed head thing that he had going on was only acceptable after he'd been double-fucked by a guy with a gorilla dick.

Sebastian contemplated adding a natural flush to his cheeks, but it probably wouldn't go with his sunken eyes, marshmallow white, freckled skin and penetrating glare. Well, at least, he _still_ looked better than Hummel!

Blaine and Nick were sitting on the couch. They bought enough coffee to annihilate his father's pacemaker.

"Hey!" Blaine stood up and hugged him. Sebastian stiffened when he felt Blaine's hand travel up his spine. Sebastian wanted to call him out on the foreplay when guests were present. "Sebastian. We need to talk."

"You're leaving your boyfriend for me?" Sebastian perked up with a smirk.

Blaine's whole face went redder than a KitKat wrapper. "We got your soy cappuccino."

"Great," Sebastian made sue that his eyes were suggestively on Blaine's body—trailing up from his pretty little head down to his toes. Those sneakers he was wearing? _Killer_. He took the cup from Blaine, and then took a sip, his eyes still locked on Blaine. He could make that guy uncomfortable just by existing. It was a talent. "You look better every time I see you, Blaine—probably the only other person in the world that could top _my_ great looks."

Nick sighed deeply. "You're really fucking insufferable," he mumbled. "You okay?" Nick's face softened.

"I told you that I'm _FINE_ ," Sebastian rolled his eyes. "I'm just sad my big, fat dick didn't…— _what the fuck?"_

He bet his heart stopped when Lena shoved a plate of a _GIGANTIC_ slice of cake to his chest, and he audibly wheezed. Like just looking at cake gave made his airways narrow. That didn't look so good—especially when he dropped it onto the ground because he wasn't expecting to be holding anything with _hundreds_ and _hundreds_ of calories into his hands.

"I thought you said you wanted a slice," Lena looked annoyed, as a white-faced Sebastian went to clean up the mess. Cream cheese icing was not the kind of white gunk that Sebastian wanted to swallow. "You love mom's cake."

Maybe he should've used the foundation on Lena's cheeks for himself. _Blushing Bitch_.

Sebastian snorted, as he went to get their dustpan and brush for the smashed plate. "I love dick too, but if some guy suddenly hurled it at me without any warning, you'd bet I wouldn't be ecstatic."

He was pretty sure that this was how Blaine and Nick envisioned his homelife—bending down before them to do housework in this little craptastic living room with a TV that was moodier than a slithering snake like him being put on a diet. There was also a coffee table that belonged to the Incan Empire (they probably threw it as trash), five tacky lamps that didn't work, and a Persian carpet that had more of Sebastian's cum than his actual dick did. _Fabulous_.

Or in Sebastian's blubbery case… _flabulous!_

As Sebastian dumped his mom's favourite china in the garbage and mopped off cake off the floor, he glanced back up at Nick and Blaine, who were staring at him like he was doing this while wearing a polka dotted bikini. Sebastian found that pretty amusing. "Didn't you and Hummel visit my mom before? I thought you'd recognise the place."

Blaine nearly choked on his medium drip. "Yeah, but I thought—I thought it couldn't be the same house," he ran his hand through his hair. Sebastian wanted to fuck him for being so cute. "Cause you-you told us that you were homeless, so, I assumed that you found some other place that isn't your mom's house since she, uh… _threw you out_."

Sebastian snorted, but he could see Lena eying him, because she just figured out that he didn't want to take his 'friends' to his father's house—where Sebastian spent half his time scrubbing puke out of curtains. Very elegant. If they were popping eyes because they couldn't believe that Snobby Snarky Sebastard just cleaned cake off the floor, they'd be fucking pissing themselves seeing how he dragged his two-hundred-pound father to his room after he passed out.

Sebastian drank some of his soy cappuccino and shook his head. "Nope," he popped his _p_.

They sat together in silence for a while. Sebastian nursed his cold cappuccino and wondered how hard it was for them to have a conversation with him that wasn't accusing him of stealing music sheets from other choirs to cheat.

Sebastian couldn't believe he was sitting through this, when he could luckily be in his father's house right now—getting the crap beat out of him because he drank some liquor last night. That old bastard was so possessive over anything alcoholic that even when Sebastian bought his own liquor, he got a beating for it because his father believed that Sebastian stole it from him. _Nice_. Most fathers gave a shit if their sixteen-year-old kids drank in the first place. Most fathers didn't beat their kid with a bottle because he tried to put your only pair of undies in the wash.

"Hey, so… um… about today…" Nick was fingering through his sleeve. "What happened?"

Sebastian contemplated his next move. " _I_ didn't know you were my diary, Duval."

"Fair enough," Nick's reply surprised Sebastian. "You don't owe me anything. Except maybe a coffee."

"You want a lukewarm cappuccino?" Sebastian raised an eyebrow. He was sitting on his knees and shifted away so that he didn't get sent to the hospital because his fat ass crushed his bony knees. That was when he also realised that eating this much soy was probably the reason that he had lard cups. Too bad he fucked a soybean and he liked it.

Sebastian cocked his head to the side. "How did you know you liked to suck dick, Blaine?"

Blaine's cup was probably empty. Sebastian knew because he was such a stalking creep that he'd memorised how long it took for Blaine to slurp down his order ages ago. And he started envisioning Blaine slurping other things.

"I'm not sure," Blaine said. "Is that what you were hoping to hear?"

Sebastian just smirked, and then snorted. _"Lame,"_ he didn't know when he knew either. "I like you, Blaine."

They sat again for some time, and Nick was looking at him—staring almost.

"Sebastian, did anyone ever tell you they… they might think you have an eating disorder?" Nick suddenly asked.

Blaine slowly nodded his head. "Nick means is that ever, since the _Bash-Up Mash-Up_ Group posted about it, I mean…we all thought that it might be true. Even if it's just once and I genuinely believe that you do."

Sebastian was going to cry or laugh. He thought there might be a death pie in the oven for him.

 _Did anyone tell you they think you might have an eating disorder?_ His mother thought he had an _overeating_ disorder.

 _Everyone thought it might be true. Even if it's just once._ Well, that was a fucking comfort. People thought he was sick and then believed that he wasn't cause of a few photographs that Hummel took. May all suck his glittery cock… how sad.

"I'm sorry that—" Sebastian cut Nick off. He wasn't listening to this much bullshit. It might make him fatter.

 _"STOP!"_ Sebastian yelled. "Do you know the _BUMU_ page? They posted that _two fucking months ago_. And I thought you were convinced I was faking it! Just like you're so fucking convinced I actually _LIVE IN THIS FUCKING HOUSE!"_

"Sebastian, you posted pictures of yourself that you know are _nothing_ like how you really look like—" Nick said.

"Yeah, well, I posted a _fucking picture,"_ Sebastian said coldly. "Hummel gets me kicked out of my house."

Nick opened his mouth. "We're in your house so, I—"

 _"Are you fucking STUPID?"_ Sebastian asked. Nick's breath hitched. He looked almost _afraid_ of Sebastian. It was hilarious. What was he going to do? Jab him with his ribs? "I thought _I_ was the one repeating a subject."

"Stop it," Blaine didn't look pleased with him. "Sebastian, you're scaring him."

Sebastian looked at them both, and suddenly, he felt nothing for either of them. He was sick of them.

"Fuck you. I don't care what _YOU_ think. I hate all of you sick losers that think that you're better than me because you have morals. _HA!_ " Sebastian wished that he was wasted. Then at least, he'd feel good saying all this shit and he could pass out after. "I have you figured out because you _DON'T_. You fucking pretentious douchebags that think that you can buy me with a fucking sweater and-and-and a stupid fucking song about friendship after all the crap that _YOU_ pulled… what the fuck did you expect? You know what's funny? You telling me, 'oh, Sebastian, I think you have an eating disorder' a fucking _YEAR_ after you thought I had a problem? _Fuck you fuck you fuck you_."

"Sebastian, you're a fucking psychopath. You tried to blind—" Sebastian cut Nick off again.

"What the fuck are you going to tell me? I tried to blind Blaine? I deserve it? I tried to kill Dave too? I'm a fucking monster? Maybe I am, but _YOU'RE_ fucking worse!" Sebastian's hands were shaking and he starting wheezing. Nick wanted to help him with his panic attack so much! Let him start right now. "You can't decide to be a fucking dick to me, pretend you're all nice to all your pretty little friends that actually believe the kind of trash that comes out of your mouth, and then-then… tell _ME_ you think I have an eating disorder, and expect me to _collapse_ and cry with joy. By the way, did you know you're probably right? I think _I'm fucking huge—_ and I ain't talking about my dick either. I don't fucking eat—until I binge like the fucking _PIG_ that I am. I tried to make myself puke that up, but I ain't that great at it. Maybe I need to see your boyfriend naked to stimulate my gag reflex. But why would _you_ believe anything I say?"

Blaine looked like he lost all the respect that he had for him. "You're sick, Sebastian. Nick was trying to _help_."

Sebastian couldn't believe he said all of that, and all Blaine was doing there was sitting there scolding him. He used to really like Blaine. He used to think that Blaine saw the best in people, but he couldn't understand. Now, Sebastian was standing there with all this aching, _burning_ _PAIN_ in his chest and he was supposed to be okay with it.

"You're sick too," Sebastian spat out. "But at least my type gets therapy. You're stuck with yours forever."

Blaine shuddered, and then grabbed his things. He and Nick left with Blaine grumbling angrily to himself.

Sebastian wanted to laugh. He just admitted to these people that he had an eating disorder, and all Blaine gave a flying fuck about was that he wasn't melting into a rainbow sunshine for Nick Duval. What did he expect? That he'd break down and cry? He'd tell them about his father choking him until he was purple and blue when he was just a little kid?

Sebastian snorted. They didn't earn the right to fucking now. They didn't earn the right to see him cry.

He couldn't even kill himself, because they'd take one look at him and tell him he was _copying_ _Dave_. And he was a lot of things, but he wasn't a fucking copycat. Sebastian would settle for hoping that he got run over by a car. Hopefully, Hummel's. Sebastian snorted.

They'd never understand him. Sitting there in their perfect little white houses, where they gawked at Sebastian for cleaning up the piece of carroty sludge that his sister slammed into his chest. Suddenly, he was five years old and in his mother's arms. She smelled like the autumn-scented candles that she just put on, even though it was summer. She was telling him that she loved him. Fucking stupid baby believing anything that came out of her lying mouth.

The only person that could love him was himself—and they were taking that away from him too.


	23. Chapter 23

**Eat Your Words**

Chapter Twenty-Three

* * *

Sebastian was pretty sure his car might die any day now. He was now currently in a pair of wet, baggy jeans, and a gigantic green hoodie that _went with his eyes_. Gross. His shoes had holes in them… and people still thought he was loaded! Loaded with what? _Bullshit probably,_ Sebastian thought with a roll of his sea-green eyes.

He knocked on the door of that white-picket-fence house he shouldn't be standing in front of.

Sebastian thought that Dave Karofsky would go ballistic when he opened the door and saw Sebastian standing there, with his armful of his poorly written wet calculus notes and a heaving, dying backpack. Maybe he looked extra pathetic because Dave's facial expressions softened. He didn't look _that_ pissed.

" _You're_ _fucking sick, Smythe_ ," Dave said, but he didn't punch him in the face until his nose could compete with Severus Snape's. He took that as a good sign that Dave didn't completely hate him. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Sebastian pulled his dirty, muddy notes to his chest. This shitty hoodie was the only thing he had clean in the house ever since the gigantic spider washing machine invasion. The biggest one was the size of his cock.

"Can I use your washing machine?" Sebastian realised how he sounded like when he said that. He grew 10% gayer.

"What the fuck?" Dave repeated, which was a _very_ normal thing to say to the guy had a baby crush on you that rejected you in like three different ways in ten minutes. "What do I fucking look like? The laundromat to you?"

Sebastian's face remained rigid. "Whatever," he turned around to leave.

"You're serious?" Dave was leaning against the door. Now, he looked like he wanted to laugh. "You seriously drove all the way from your fancy little house in Westerville, with your pretty school, just you could come over here and-and-and use my fucking washing machine? _What the fuck is wrong with you?"_

Sebastian, at this point, just stared at him with glossy eyes. He wanted to tell him everything.

"You really hate me that much?" was what came out of Sebastian's mouth instead.

Dave looked shocked to see Sebastian like this, but he was crumbling and becoming undone in front of everyone's very fucking eyes. Too bad they were fucking blind. Sebastian didn't know about them, but he didn't throw salt slushies into Nick Duval's eyes. Sebastian hoped the Warblers choked from drinking all that New Direction ass juice.

Sebastian was fucking soaked—wetter than Lopez's cunt after their impromptu solo. He wasn't taking any of this.

He grabbed his tattered notes and bag and then stomped to his car. When he got inside, his stomach clenched a little bit. He was wetter than a virgin's lubricated arsehole before Mr Gorilla Dick tried to get a shot at it. Sebastian couldn't go anywhere with the fucking rain without ending up in the fucking hospital. Did you know how pissed his father would be if he ended up in the hospital… you know, apart from the times where he put him there?

He heard a knock on the window and rolled the window down to see Dave standing there.

"I thought my car was a piece of shit…" Dave was smiling at him. "First time I saw this thing on the road, I thought that he had to be fucking joking. Where's your Lamborghini, Smythe? Daddy cut down your allowance?"

Sebastian wasn't in such a playful mood. "If you ain't letting me use your washing machine, get out of my face."

"You're fucking serious?" Dave couldn't believe it. " _YOU_ know how to operate a washing machine?"

"I'm going to fucking run you over if you don't get out of my face," Sebastian's voice turned colder. Why the hell was he being nice to someone that annoyed him? Just cause Dave fucking tried to off himself? He'd been nice for ages, and all he'd been getting was this moody bitch with more hormonal shifts than his perimenopausal mother.

Dave smirked. "Why don't you take me back to meet your Daddy? We can _straighten_ things out with him."

Possibly being the worst gay joke Sebastian ever heard, he snorted. His mother thought he had AIDS, and she was the nice parent. Forget Seb being gay—if his father even knew that he had gay _friends_ , Sebastian would need a surgery for his imminent patellar and shoulder dislocation. And Sebastian was sure his dick wouldn't be in the right place either.

When Sebastian put his keys into the ignition, Dave gave up. "Fine!" he laughed. "You can use my _washing machine."_

Sebastian suddenly felt like it was the worst fucking idea. He wanted to tell him to fuck off, but there was one spider in the washing machine last week. Now, there were _SIX_. Sebastian was fucking terrified of bugs, but he could work himself into a panic attack just _thinking_ about them fuzzy clump of legs touching his thin.

He walked right inside, and Dave seemed amused by the fact that Sebastian had a bag full of laundry with him. Normal people would ask why the fuck he wanted to use their washing machine in the first place.

Sebastian amused Dave by working the machine like he worked a dick during a blowjob. _Maybe not as good_ , Sebastian thought with a smirk. Before he got the washing machine to run, Dave told him he was going to get a shower. Dave got dirty and wet too.

When Dave came back up, he had clothes into his arms.

"Hey, I got these for you," Dave's clothes looked like blankets. "You know, to wear… _if_ you want to take a shower. But you know, I guess you don't mind walking around like a dirty bitch." Dave didn't look so comfortable with him.

That one got a snort from Sebastian. "I ain't _your_ dirty bitch though, so cut the bad jokes."

Sebastian wished to any fucking deity in the sky that he hoped that it wasn't one of those times where he wore another guy's clothes—a guy that _looked_ big—and he ended up having jeans on that were so tight that his dick suffocated.

Other than spitting spunk all over the showers from remembering how it felt like to have a shower in a house _with_ good plumbing, Sebastian sat there remembering shit.

He contemplated for a second how shitty it felt like that Trent fucking Dixon didn't like the fact that he was rooming in with the guy that threw slushies at his _friends_. Trent went to the counsellor, three teachers, and the fucking _principal_ because he didn't like rooming in with him. There weren't any rooms to swap, and nobody else would take him up as an extra roommate because they thought he was a dick. They fucking kicked him out of the dorm rooms instead of telling Trent to suck on it because someone let them know that Sebastian was a giant bully that obviously snorted cocaine in the Dalton parking lot. Sebastian had been _seething_ at that point. And you know what? People told him that he was lucky that he was being let off _SO EASY_. Funny… Hummel could get away with murder. Hummel got away with getting his father closer to some other bitch just so he could masturbate to the guy that he had a crush on after all. If his stepbrother was a chick, they'd be fucking all over him for it! Hummel took one look at him and thought he was the sickest human being to ever exist. He walked around in a corset then cried about how oppressed he was. There was nothing about wanting to suck dick that made you _need_ to put on a skirt. You couldn't control your fucking sexuality, but you can control what kind of clothes you were in public. If you couldn't take what others dished out, then why the hell wear that crap? Yeah, Sebastian eavesdropped on Nude Erections' conversations in the Lima Bean all the time because his blood pressure wasn't sky-high enough as it was.

 _Seriously? YOU'RE going to talk about not being able to take what you dish out?_ Sebastian thought to himself. Pathetic.

The more he thought of reasons why he hated Kurt Hummel, the more he realised he was just a jealous bitch.

All he could think about right now was that if he was in fucking Dalton right now, he wouldn't need to use another guy's washing machine. If he was in Dalton, he wouldn't have to be busy trying to grab his own father's fucking three-am-puke and forcing it into the shower sinkhole.

He rooted through his backpack and tried to apply wet MAC foundation on his pretty face. He was so fucking gay.

After his shower and remembering how much of a victim he was (well, nobody else was going to do it for him. He pissed off Blaine and simultaneously admitted to both Duval and Anderson that he had an _eating disorder_ ), Sebastian went downstairs. He used his own belt buckle to keep the pants to his hips, but he felt like he was wearing blankets.

"Can I hang my laundry here?" Sebastian asked Dave, whose eyes were anywhere but Sebastian's face. "I—"

"Why are you so fucking mean to Kurt?" Dave suddenly asked. "He's a really nice guy."

It was like Dave could hear Sebastian bashing out Kurt in his head. He did it in his head, right?

"He ain't nice to me," Sebastian replied coldly. If Dave hated him because he didn't worship Hummel's outward cunt, then he could go screw himself because he wasn't going to get anywhere with that prude. "What is _YOUR_ fucking deal with that guy? He ain't the official poster kid for gay rights," Sebastian crossed his arms over his chest.

"Seriously? You're that jealous? Why? _I_ was his bully and I liked him. He got a real great personality too," Dave snorted. "You can hang your shit here, but this is the last time I let you in my house."

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Cause I don't like your imaginary fuck buddy?"

Before he could think twice, Dave slammed his fist into Sebastian's face. "Take your fucking shit out of my house."

Sebastian was going to do Dave the courtesy of cleaning the mud in Dave's house, but he didn't give a shit anymore. He couldn't believe that Dave was letting him go outside. It was _POURING_ out. He went to fetch his backpack, which now had holes. His calculus notes he threw in the bin because they were like the Nude Erection and Dave Karofsky's moral code—fucked beyond recognition. Sebastian was not sure if he could decrypt more than a few sentences. Tomorrow, when Sebastian went to Dalton, his professor would shit bricks when he asked him to sort of repeat the last six lessons that they had together cause he lost his set of notes.

He grabbed his pile of wet, clean clothes and carried them downstairs into his arms.

Dave's father, Paul Karofsky, was standing there in front of the mud, staring at Sebastian with a shocked expression. He probably never had any of Dave's friends come over to use the washing machine—and then get kicked out for being a dick to some other guy. Paul Karofsky looked real sad when he saw him.

He didn't know what was wrong with seeing Paul standing there, staring up at Sebastian like he was his kid and he was disappointed in him. Why the fuck was he disappointed _with him?_ Paul didn't know him. He never met Sebastian before!

But all Sebastian could suddenly feel like was that one time his father looked at him like that.

He'd just lost a hundred and twelve pounds (and he was _still_ overweight). Yeah, he was three-hundred- _something_ before. Sebastian had no clothes that fit him at home, and his father refused to buy him any clothes. After his shorts falling off in gym class—you know how he kept those shorts up before? He used to sneak into Lena's and his mom's room and and stuff pads in the shorts until they were big enough that he could tie the waist. Yeah. When he sprung, a whole lot of _feminine hygiene products_ sprawled out of his pants. People were laughing at him, he told himself that he'd buy _normal_ clothes one way or another. He grabbed his father's wallet and walked down to the nearest clothes store to buy normal people clothes. He felt excited about it almost, as he laid down his shiny new normal-person-clothes on his head.

Then his father walked in and Sebastian immediately threw himself at his new clothes to hide his face because his front tooth was still real sore from the last time that his father hit him—it wasn't so bad. It hurt to eat, and he lost a whole _three pounds_ that week from barely eating.

As he buried his head into his clothes, he heard his father move away. He looked up for a second, and he saw that look staring right back up at him. _Disappointment_. Sebastian's stomach churned, and he felt like he was going to hurl.

He hated his father. Cause if he hit him, then Sebastian still felt like he deserved his shiny clothes, but he looked at him like _that_ , then he felt like he didn't. Whenever Sebastian used to put on his new clothes, he looked down at the floor in _SHAME_. Why lose a hundred pounds if you never got to feel the success of it?

Paul Karofsky was giving him _THAT_ look, that look that Sebastian only had once in his life. And it crushed him.

And Sebastian made it ten times worse. "Don't look at me like _that_ , old man. I… I ain't your kid," he said weakly.

Then he obviously did the only logical thing he could right then—Sebastian threw all his clothes onto the ground of the Karofsky household, and he sprinted towards the car. Great. He went into Dave's house, trekked fucking mud and dirt all over the place, and then dropped all his clothes on the stairs. How nice. He didn't know what this accomplished, but he didn't want those clothes anyway anymore. Sebastian's heart was thumping into his chest and his hands were shaky as he put his keys in the ignition. Sebastian bit down his lip so hard that he was drawing blood.

He started up his car, and then drove even though he could barely see straight. It computed into Sebastian's head for a second that his Dalton clothes were in that pile in Dave Karofsky's house and he didn't have a back-up to wear.

The downpour was ridiculous. Just as Sebastian was driving, some asshole speed had Sebastian lose control of his car for about a second. Sebastian skidded across the lane and then violently smashed his car into a fucking _STOP_ sign. This was a joke—a real fucking joke. He tried to start his car back up, and by some miracle, his piece of shit broken Bentley managed to spew out a few sour notes. Sebastian's heart was racing, because he didn't know what to do if his car stopped halfway to a tire shop. He didn't got anyone to ask directions for a tire shop, and the only one he knew was Hummel's because he stopped there once to ridicule him! This sucked. Sebastian was _broke_. He was alone, and hedidn't got nobody to call him if he was suddenly stuck in the middle of nowhere.

Sebastian pressed on and drove to Hummel's Tires and Lubes in the dead end of the night.


	24. Chapter 24

**Eat Your Words**

Chapter Twenty-Four

* * *

When Sebastian got to the tire shop, it was one in the morning. He crawled to the back of his car to sleep—by the way? He barely had any gas left. He definitely didn't got no gas to take him home, and he was most definitely skint.

He slept like crap and woke up when he heard someone tapping at his window. He groaned and forced himself to wake up. Now, he had Burt Hummel standing over him. Sebastian wiped his drool off him, and then opened the door.

"Were you _sleeping_ in that car?" Burt asked him. "How long have you been in there, kid?"

"None of your fucking business," Sebastian wasn't nice to his kid, so why should he be nice to him? "Fix my car."

" _I_ ain't fixing nothing until you start yapping," Burt shook his head. "How long you been here?"

Sebastian snorted. "I ain't answering," he finally said. "Now, fix my fucking car."

"Where's your folks?" Burt queried. Why the fuck did he want to know? Did he want to invite them for dinner?

"At work," Sebastian was giving this guy a real hard time and he knew it. He didn't want anyone's parental concern. He had enough of it at home. His father was always concerned that Sebastian was going to be stupid enough to walk outside with his half-bruised face, and swollen cheeks. "Look. If _you_ don't wanna fix my car, I'm going. I got better things to do than wait for you to decide to do your fucking job, alright?"

Burt was looking over at the damage to the side of his car where he hit the sign. "Call 'em down here."

"I'd rather suck your dick," Sebastian moved towards the damage. This was going to cost him a lot of money, and all he had on him was his house keys and phone in his pockets right now. His wallet might as well be empty.

The old goat was fucking persistent. He didn't even want to know how Sebastian managed to fuck his car up so much!

Burt wanted his one of his parent's phone numbers. Sebastian wasn't going to tell him, but then Burt threatened to call the cops on what he did to his car. So now, Sebastian was forced to call his father up at _WORK_ to tell him what he did, and his heart did more flips than the Warblers did in Regionals. Burt Hummel was a dick. Why couldn't he just fix his car? A Lima Bean barista didn't call his father to check if he was old enough for caffeine… and Courvoisier.

 _Yeah, just wait until Hummel figures out you don't got no money to pay for your shit-can car, no ride to go home to, you're late to class, and you were driving in that giant wet dream last night_ , Sebastian told himself. _He sure will think you're responsible_.

"Hey," he heard Burt say. "Kids bust up their cars all the time. It's not as big a deal as you think. What happened?"

"Do you need to know what happened to fix my car?" Sebastian mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You're making this really hard for me, kid." Burt shook his head. "Are you like this at home?"

Sebastian hated it when adults said that. Yeah, he was like this at home. He was like this _because_ of his home.

Huh. By the way, Sebastian was going to be late for the class that he didn't have clothes for. If he missed anymore classes, Sebastian would fail because of his 'poor attendance', so he got that going for him. If he told his father he had to repeat the year, he'd had his anatomy rearranged and spend the next few days breathing out of a tube in the ICU. Oh, and he was all bruised up and his body ached from ramming itself into the wheel when he hit the sign.

Burt attended to some other guy and Sebastian leaned against his car in the hot summer sun because Hummel couldn't be bothered to tell him to come inside in the hot shade where he wasn't sweating his balls off.

"Dad," when Sebastian heard that squeaky hamster voice, he wanted to shoot off his foot. "My car has a _Check Engine_ sign and you promised you'd have it looked at _TODAY.._. well, you've been saying that for three weeks now! If my car spontaneously explodes today when I'm driving Mercedes to the new Mexican place she keeps talking about…"

The more Sebastian heard Gay Face speak, the more he wished he threw himself off a cliff.

When Kurt Hummel walked in the room, Sebastian had to bite his lip back from laughing because what the fuck was he wearing? Did all that beauty sleep over the weekend help him revert to a princess?

"Not _YOU!_ For the love of all things decent and pure, _what_ are you wearing?" Kurt asked acerbically. Sebastian didn't got no clothes. He dumped it all in Karofsky's house. Now, what was the Kurt's excuse for putting on glitter this early on a Thursday morning? "By the way, Dad, _THIS_ wonderful individual is Sebastian Smythe."

Burt looked over at Sebastian as if it explained a lot! Yeah, _HE_ was the villain that his son talked about! Whatever.

"You're the kid that nearly blinded another kid—during a song—and intended actually to blind _MY_ kid?" Burt asked. He didn't look so glad to be working on his car. "You got a lot of nerve showing up here."

Sebastian looked at his piece of shit, dying Bentley. Yeah. He had a lot of fucking choice in the matter.

"Well, how else am I supposed to get my fucking car fixed? _Wish the dent away?"_ Sebastian snorted.

Kurt did not look amused. "You're an asshole," he told Sebastian, like it was something new to hear.

"I'm the asshole? _YOU'RE_ the one that got me kicked out of my fucking house!" Sebastian yelled suddenly, not sure how many times he was about to tell him that. He contemplated punching the princess in front of his father, but he didn't want his car to end up in a scrapyard. "You're the fucking reason I'm so miserable, and you're the reason that Karofsky kicked me out of his house when I was busy doing my fucking _LAUNDRY_. _I_ now got no fucking clothes. Oh, by the way, you're a frigid bitch. And _I'm_ late to a class I will definitely fail if I don't show up to _TODAY!_ "

Maybe he should've punched Gay Face. At least he'd get the satisfaction because the way that Burt Hummel was staring at him was dangerous right now. He looked like he was about to smack him—a sixteen-year-old kid.

" _You_ know how to operate a washing machine?" Kurt asked. "What do you do? Do you give it a lap dance?"

Sebastian just gave up talking then. What the point of explaining anything if people just saw him as Sebastard?

When Jean Smythe came around, Kurt followed him around like a puppy dog and talked about how pretty his suits were and how he'd read his catalogue on his eleven tips of being successful. Sebastian leaned against the wall. His father, sitting there with his tight, taut body, winning smile and beautiful suit. He actually _did_ look like a CEO of a law firm that didn't got time for nobody, especially with that glow in his face. Sebastian thought it was hilarious because his father spent more time running his mouth than his legs and ate carbonara that was filled with ten times more fat than Sebastian had in one of his thick, tree-trunk thighs. Kurt kept on asking him questions.

"I now put avocado in all in my smoothies despite the high fat content," Kurt chirped excitedly. "You look extremely glamourous with Katie Lowe. Absolutely fabulous… I wonder how it's like! _I_ hoped my Straight-A average and involvement in our Glee club gets into an arts' school in New York. Unfortunately, I didn't quite make the deal."

"Your magical cunt didn't help seal the deal, Gay Face?" Sebastian mumbled.

Burt looked like he really wanted to punch him. Jean should've said: _go ahead. I do it all the time._ Sebastian was sure there wasn't an orthopaedic surgeon in Lima that didn't know his name by now.

"Don't talk to my son like that, do you understand?" when Burt talked, Sebastian tried not to laugh. He sounded so stereotypically American it was like he wasn't real. "With that attitude in life, kid, _you_ aren't getting to go anywhere."

"Thank you, old man," Sebastian muttered. "I didn't know you was my guidance counsellor."

 _"Are,"_ Kurt proudly corrected his English. Because he was a Straight A average student. Fuck him.

 _Even I don't kiss ass like that,_ Sebastian thought. And Straight A average! Huh. Sebastian had one of those. Before he failed a subject that he didn't fucking take in the first place. You know, for a whore like himself, he took school seriously. Still, nobody took him seriously when he told them that he didn't know he took calculus before.

Somehow, hearing his father was dating this Katie bitch hurt him. Even though Jean was a two-timing bastard, Sebastian still remembered when his mom had a glow to her thinking about her—…abusive husband. Yeah, forget it.

His mother fucking deserved better. Leaving him to rot in his own personal hell was the best thing she ever did.

He, his mom and Lena were _FINE_ before Hummel opened his big mouth. Sebastian was amazed that that gigantic mouth hadn't been used to suck dick. He was sure that even if Kurt had any kind of sex, it was the most boring experience. Good thing Sebastian hated Blaine Anderson just as much now, so he didn't feel particularly annoyed that those two humped each other—they deserved each other. Two fucking hypocrites making out with each other.

Sebastian used to be under the impression that Blaine saw right through his bravado, even when he layered it on thicker than Karofsky's cologne. But people didn't get him. They _never_ fucking would, so he might as well stop trying.

Jean was great at pretending to be interested in Kurt. Jean was talking to him like he knew him all his life.

Now, Sebastian got three dicks in the same room that he didn't want to deal with. He was late for his eight in the morning class and probably failed calculus by default. Sebastian was going to have to suck someone's dick if he wanted to continue taking that course. He couldn't stand hearing his father laugh with the Hummel's when discussing the car damage—Burt mentioned Sebastian didn't want to say how he got the accident but 'it looks like he hit something when he was driving in the downpour'. Kurt mentioned how stupid it was that Sebastian was driving out yesterday when it was raining so heavy. Sebastian scowled… look at them bonding about how much they hated him!

As they laughed _AT HIM_ , Sebastian just felt himself growing smaller and smaller. _Why the hell wasn't he dead yet?_

 _COWARD_. There was something wrong about taking a gun and shooting his head off, but Sebastian had no problem intentionally trying to lose enough weight to succumb to a slow, miserable death. Too bad he could only starve for so long before he found himself eating gigantic garlic knots from the pizza place next to Dalton. Fat-ass.

"…anyway, it's really nice meeting you both," Jean said. "I'm sure the car's gonna look great in a few weeks."

 _"A few weeks?"_ Sebastian was pulled out of his trance when he heard _THAT_. "You're fucking kidding."

He'd die if he had to stay in Jean Smythe's house, which was slowly converting itself to Shrek's swamp.

Every time Sebastian saw Kurt Hummel, his life just got worse and worse. He wished he could've thrown that slushie on him right now. He really wished he could've punched him in the face the second that he got a clear shot.

Jean placed a hand on Sebastian's shoulder and he wasn't sure how it looked friendly to Gay Face and his nice dad, the biggest gay supporter in the whole history of the world. Both Hummel's liked all gays except for Sebastian, 'cause he had AIDS. Sebastian bit down his lip form inside to keep from crying, but his eyes burned with unshed tears.

"We have to get going," Jean flashed a billion-dollar smile. "We have a doctor's appointment."

Sebastian felt faint. He was going to fail his class. Cause he knew what 'doctor's appointment' was code for.

At Jean's car, Sebastian took a deep breath. His father's smile disappeared almost immediately, and Sebastian stared at all those tinted windows. His stomach hurt so much already, and he knew that it was going to get worse.

"Your friend is nice," Jean said to him, and Sebastian hated Kurt Hummel even more. Sebastian closed his eyes because he expected a punch to come. "Told me you went to someone else's house to use their laundry machine too. It makes me wonder if you need to be put into a special needs' class because if I remember correctly, _YOU_ got a washing machine in my house. Lazy fucking prick. Did you not want to do it yourself?"

The whole car ride was a fucking nightmare for Sebastian. Every time there was a stop light, Sebastian studied his father's face to see how pissed he was. Sebastian chose one of these stoplights to bury his head into his hands and then mentioned his problem at school. That he missed so many sessions— _from hospital admissions because of your fist_ , Sebastian excluded—that he might fail his summer course. Thus, failing the whole year and having to repeat it. Sebastian even told him that he didn't got a uniform anymore. As he said this, his father went unusually quiet.

"Hey," Sebastian's voice was soft. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry about the—"

"Shut the fuck up," Jean was cold. "You wasted my day. Do you know how much fucking work I have to do today?"

Sebastian sunk into his seat. "I'm sorry," and he was surprised at how he really meant it. "I thought I could handle it."

Jean laughed, like it was a joke. Sebastian felt like he was a little kid trying to prove to someone that he was bigger than he was. Sebastian knew he did the chores around his father's house and had to take care of him every fucking night, but he suddenly he felt like he was much more inferior to everyone else. Why else did everyone hate him?

When they drove to Dalton, Sebastian sat with Mr Wright, the principal and himself. Sebastian's hands twitched, and he looked out into the window. When they admitted to making a mistake by registering Sebastian on for the exam when he didn't take the class, Sebastian was silent. Then Mr Wright said all about how he sent the information to his mother, and that his mother had informed them that they were living with his father and had given him the address. The letter had been sent weeks ago—Mr Wright thought that Sebastian knew because he hadn't attended a class for weeks. And what was he supposed to say? _My father beat me up, I was in the hospital?_

"I was sure I'd never seen you before in my life when you attended the first session! I'd been sure there was a mistake," Mr Wright laughed. "But you'd only been to a few classes in the beginning of summer. No harm, right?"

Sebastian wasn't laughing. To compensate for, the principal said they'd give him lunches for _FREE_. Laughable.

Instead, he had to listen to Mr Wright and the Dalton principal talk about how _healthy_ he looked now—exams stressed him out, right? He was doing better? There were no problems at home? _Ha_. Sebastian hadn't eaten in two days. But his small pants used to be baggy on him, and now, they fucking fit his fat ass. So, _he_ didn't got no problem. Fun.


	25. Chapter 25

_to be completely fair, i wrote like 4 chapters and hated all of them. i tried to reread them and still hated them. so i wrote this chapter it took me forever and... well, it's super dark and the abuse in this chapter is pretty psychological for Sebastian. i mentioned Sebastian is afraid of spiders and it just... got out of hand i think because this idea kept on cropping up in my head. i've probably written it in a previous chapter and then deleted it... i so do not even expect what will happen in this fanfiction. i really wanted to make it so i didn't have to upload this, but there is another subplot i want to come from this. so. yeah. proceed with caution._

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Twenty-Five

* * *

"Sebastian Smythe," the doll-sized nurse from the desk. She had a face that only a raging, horny donkey could love. He liked her heels. He owned a used condom with that colour. "Dr Karofsky is ready to see you now. Room four."

Yeah. Psychiatrist Paul Karofsky. Encouraging, right? It wasn't like his kid tried to croak himself in their house.

Sebastian's entire life was in an old manila folder. From the time that he tried to put on normal-sized boxers at three-hundred-pounds and ended up getting self-wedgie that was so bad that needing them to be cut by a nurse in school to that one time that fourteen-year-old Sebastian jerked off so much that his dick was in pain for eight hours.

When they fixed it, he orgasmed for _two minutes_. Seriously. He was happier than Dixon eating a shit-eating pig.

"Hey," Sebastian walked into the room with shaky hands. Did this guy only dress like a stockbroker in the fifties? And what was Sebastian _so nervous about?_ He wasn't nervous when he lost his fucking virginity. "Remember me? The guy that dropped his wet laundry in your house, after tracking mud all over the place? Yeah. I'm _that_ guy."

Maybe Karofsky should deep-fry and eat him if he was going to track mud all over a house.

When Paul didn't say anything, Sebastian just sat down. The seat was still warm from the last ass that sat on it. Yuck.

"What's the problem exactly?" Good start. Paul didn't tell him to get out because he had actual people to treat.

Sebastian put his files down on the table and kept his shiny, sea-green eyes on the ground. Yeah, cause shrinks definitely didn't notice when you refused to make eye contact with them because you're afraid they might tell you that they want their gay son to do things to you that might be a crime in a few states.

Sebastian swallowed the lump in his throat. "I don't feel so good," he whispered.

"What do you mean?" Paul didn't look like he wanted to strangle him with his Spider-Man drawers. That was good.

Sebastian rubbed his arm self-consciously and made sure he didn't look at Paul long enough for the guy to figure out his undying love and devotion towards his son. _"You know."_

"I know?" Paul reiterated. Was it cool if a shrink looked at you like you were talking to him in Klingon?

Sebastian swallowed the second lump in his throat. He made less sound sucking dick. "Yeah."

Then Paul asked that question that he wished people would stop asking him. "Where exactly are your parents today?"

 _Did he seriously ask him that?_ Did dads from the gay community meet up and decide they wanted to speak to _his parents?_

"I… uh…" Sebastian was sure that that was why his SAT scores were so shit. His essay writing needed work!

"Sebastian," wow, Paul knew his name. The computer probably told him, like it told him that guys have been sending death threats to his son. Ha. That helped him a _LOT_ , right? "Where are your parents?"

After that, Sebastian didn't care if he was throwing a temper tantrum in the psych's office.

"My… my _PARENTS?"_ Sebastian reiterated. "You want to fucking talk to those fucking wastes of space?"

He knew that he sounded like the most conceited asshole of all time. Sebastian didn't give a shit. They said worse stuff to him! "Look, buddy, if _you're_ going to start asking me about where my fucking parents are, I ain't going to be pleasant. I ain't here to blow your dick. I can talk about my fucking feelings without my parents watching over me."

Paul was so startled that he dropped his mouse. _Ha_. Sebastian owned a real one in his house. Speedy Gonzales.

"Do… do you talk like this to your parents?" Paul looked shocked. The gay dads' community. Ha.

"Like what?" Sebastian cocked his eyebrows. "In sentences? Well, sometimes I sing because I'm in a subpar musical."

If Sebastian had a dollar for every time he'd heard some old guy asking him if he acted like this around his own parents, he'd have exactly two fucking dollars. He used to be a nice guy to most guys' parents before he ended up being fucked over the ass by the nicest gay guys in Ohio. Sebastian sure liked it rough and apparently, he was a giant asshole. But no amount of lubrication could prep him for that much gorilla dick. So, why should he be nice to their dads anyway? As far as Sebastian was concerned, they could suck his cock for producing such shitty offsprings.

"Do you actually have a problem or are you here to waste my time?" old man Karofsky said.

"Of course, I do, old man. I booked an appointment to see you, right?" Sebastian snorted and then offered him a half-smirk. Old man Karofsky didn't deserve a full smirk! "Your son hit on _ME_ in a gay bar and now, he won't answer my texts. I even offered to blow him for free if he wanted. So, it makes me real sad. Now, I have erectile dysfunction."

Dave was _totally_ going to answer his calls tonight though. Sebastian was pretty sure.

"This appointment is not about my son," ha. Paul Karofsky so didn't know Dave went to a gay bar. Fun.

"It ain't about me either apparently," Sebastian snorted. "It's about my parents and how I talk to them!"

After the guy was fuming and Sebastian being—you know, _himself_ , they never really got to the file of eternal damnation. Sebastian ended up being kicked out like three minutes into his appointment. Pretty rude stuff.

When he got home through the bus, it just dawned on Sebastian that even adults hated him now.

He bet But Hummel sent his car to the fucking junk yard, and Paul Karofsky was making sure that the next time he had his monthly orthopaedic surgery (last time it was re-aligning his fucking collarbones), he wouldn't receive any painkillers because he was obviously abusing something _if he talked like that to his parents._

At least he had new clothes, since he left all that laundry in Karofsky's house. And yeah, he had his own mouse now.

Sebastian found a little money waddled up in the couch after one of his dads' breakdowns and he bought himself some cheap white pants with holes in them and a giant dark blue sweater that smelled like nachos. As long as it covered the fact that he got torched on his arms and was now upgraded from _hot_ to _extra hot white boy whip,_ he was golden.

Yeah. His father roasted his arms over an open flame until he wished for death. There was an _S_ in _S'mores_ , right?

Since it was summer, Sebastian couldn't ignore his pain by doing homework, Warbler practice or trying to run a lacrosse team. And oh, he couldn't drive anywhere. And he didn't have any friends. High school was tough, kids!

He couldn't fucking wait for summer to be over. Sebastian was going to go back to Dalton and if it killed him, he was going to get a dorm. His plan was to throw the most pitiful, Rachel Berry inspired temper tantrums until someone felt bad for him, alright? He captained a _whole fucking lacrosse team_ , and nobody believed him when Sebastian said that they were being homophobic because they didn't want to share with a guy whose hobbies included sucking and taking cock. The homophobia card only worked if you were made of daisies, like Kurt Hummel. Apparently, according to the Warblers and… all of Dalton Academy, he was a 'unjustifiably bad person'. Excuse him, but did any of these assholes in shiny blazers have psychopathic fathers that literally set their arms on fire?

As he debated what how many fucking dance numbers he was going to torture the Warblers with, the door slammed shut. Sebastian's heart did some backflips when he saw how pissed his father was.

Sebastian made a sound that sounded between a cross between a dying cat and Hummel masturbating. _"Dad?"_

"What the _FUCK_ is _YOUR DEAL?"_ Jean Smythe looked uncharacteristically gorgeous today. Ha. Later, Sebastian would spend the night trying to make sure his father didn't hang himself with ropes of his maggot spaghetti. "I get a call from a _PSYCHATRIST_ , Sebastian! Telling me you were harassing his fucking son!"

He grabbed Sebastian by his new sweater and then pulled him off the couch like he weighed nothing. He slammed him into the ground. Sebastian was fucking floored. _Ha_. And was sure his spleen was now forever going out with his pancreas. With Sebastian's side aching, he felt his father's shiny designer shoes kick him in his non-designer back.

"Now, the cocksuckers are going to come over for dinner," Jean said. " _Because of you_ , you fucking waste of oxygen!"

Ha. His father called him a waste of oxygen. He called his father a waste of space. Yet Paul was on Jean's side!

Jean grabbed Sebastian by his hair, and then dragged him down to his closet. Sebastian's stomach rebelled 'cause he knew that closet was where he found a cockroach the size of a fucking hawk. _"NO!"_ Sebastian screamed.

"What's wrong, Sebastian?" Jean seriously got off on this, Sebastian was sure. He watched him lean forward and grab a huge, hairy tarantula and Sebastian's stomach flipped. If he didn't live it, there was no way he'd believe that a house that was infested with enough bugs to make an exterminator throw up could be _habitable_. "Spider got your tongue?"

Sebastian shook his head, biting his lip so hard he could taste blood. "Get that fucking thing away from me!"

Yeah. He was afraid of spiders. He was afraid of spiders so much he drove to Karofsky's house to do the laundry.

"I thought you had _problems_ , Sebastian! _You went to a psychiatrist!"_ Jean's words made Sebastian shudder. "Don't you want to get over your crippling fear of spiders?" The last thing he wanted to do was face down Aragog for fun!

Sebastian inched backwards. This only made the shady lamp (seriously, _shady_ ) smash. _"NO, FUCKING THANKS!"_

He was crying more than Hummel at the end of The Notebook. He was so terrified.

 _"LET GO LET GO LET GO LET GO LET GO!"_ Sebastian shrieked. He was sobbing like a baby.

When his father got Sebastian pinned down, Jean shoved that disgusting, hairy ball of eight moving legs _down his throat_. Sebastian would repeat that again: _DOWN HIS THROAT_. Sure, Sebastian may have a lot of strange cock experiences in that mouth, but never had he had a hairy, fuzzy leg press against the roof of his mouth. Ever.

 _No no no no no NO_ Sebastian internally screamed. _Leave me alone. I'm just a fucking kid. Leave me ALONE._

Then like every other time something traumatising happened to him, he remembered how being in the tire shop with Kurt and Burt felt like. He remembered how humiliating it was to track mud everywhere along Dave's house… or how paralysed he felt like hitting Blaine with that slushie. All these bad memories just came rushing in on his head. _GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT_. Sebastian could feel his insides bubbling over. He was afraid he'd accidentally inhale arachnoid. This wasn't what he wanted when he said he wanted to sleep with Spiderman!

Sebastian dared not close his mouth. Cause he was sure he'd end up swallowing whole live spider.

It probably lasted a minute, maybe more. But it was the longest minute of his life. He tried to hold his breath and he didn't care how blue he got but he did _not_ want to eat a spider. At least, he totally had no appetite for anything. Right?

He was so paralysed that he could fear his heart pumping into his head. Why couldn't he just die already?

When his father did not make him eat the damn thing, Sebastian felt relief. When he tossed that giant thing to the wall. Now, he was crying even harder and it was a combination of relief and sheer horror.

He even turned to his father and said, "Thank you." Sebastian was pretty sure it was shock.

His father made this satisfied sound that Sebastian pretty much associated with pigs. Unfortunately, pigs were nicer.

Sebastian sat in silence for five minutes. He was still shaking then but then he managed to get up and get to the sink before he threw up everywhere. He was so shocked that he was speechless. His fucking sick father was pleased by how scared Sebastian of that spider. How fucking twisted did you have to be to _enjoy_ your child's suffering? He was still shaking more than a naked chick kicked out of a raging party in the middle of December. It didn't even percolate through Sebastian's head until then that Dave and Paul were coming over for dinner in this swampy cesspool.

He numbly made his way down to the porch. Then for the first time in a while, he called his mom.

"Hello?" Sebastian almost forgot how his mom sounded like. "Hello? Sebastian? Is that you? What's wrong?"

"I…" Sebastian couldn't find the words. His hand was shaking again, and he felt tears springing to his eyes. Pathetic. Him sobbing over the phone like his mom was just going to fucking appear right before his very eyes.

"Sebastian?" she sounded worried about him. Sebastian forgot how it was like to have another person actually give a shit about what he felt like. If just for a second. He _FORGOT_. That was so unfair. "Sebastian? What's wrong?"

Sebastian just sobbed. _HE HAD A SPIDER IN HIS MOUTH_. Nobody would ever want to touch him ever again. Gross.


	26. Chapter 26

**Eat Your Words**

Chapter Twenty-Six

* * *

Dave Karofsky was pretty sure that Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson could be the kind of gay guys that landed jobs as _Vogue_ magazine models. Kurt's skin glowed so much they made a pregnant woman look like a ghost. Hell, Kurt's skin glowed so much that it looked radioactive enough to cause complete universal eradication... _cool_.

Kurt was totally an alien. So, it was a little funny that he went from rosy pink to marshmallow white when Dave showed up—from behind his Lima Bean table and scared the living crap out of the guy. Whipped cream flew everywhere, and Kurt let out a half-muffle, half-scream as him and Blaine were slaughtered by sugar snow.

It was the only foreplay he'd ever done, and Dave did it with _TWO_ guys.

"Dave, there are less terrifying ways to greet people!" Kurt picked up his nonfat mocha cup, which was even more nonfat now that it was covering half the table. "You nearly scared me to death."

Dave laughed. "And here I thought the days where I put the fear of God in you were gone!"

Kurt glared. "Very funny," he wiped the coffee off his screen. "Ha _ha_. You're paying for my medical bills."

When Dave sat down with his white hot chocolate (he liked his coffee like he liked his women), he totally spaced out for five seconds because that stuff the vanilla scented body wash that Kurt used made him sleepy. By the time that Kurt and Blaine started chatting again, he was reminiscing about that one time that Quinn Fabray's bikini top came undone at that pool party two years back. It was the white, floral ruffled bikini top she wore when she wanted to pretend that she had bigger tits than her boyfriend. If he was attracted to Finn, did _that_ make him bisexual?

But yeah, Dave was totally in the middle of a conversation but hey, it wasn't like anyone told him it was a private one.

"Did Sebastian really total his car?" Blaine asked, as he tried to wipe off Kurt's nonfat mocha off his coffee cup.

"You'd think with how he drives… it's a miracle he keeps a hand on the wheel because it's not like he bothers keeping his eyes on the road!" Kurt mumbled. "But he did not total his car. He has a _tiny_ dent on the side."

"You can't compare Smythe with the rest of the human population," Dave snorted. Blaine's coffee cup looked small compared to Kurt's. "When the rest of us are trying to find out what we wanna do for the rest of our damn lives, Smythe is worried about trying to make an old guy come as fast as possible so he could get home before his curfew."

"He used to send me Rainbow Dash and Fluttershy fanart that was definitely not safe for work," Kurt said. Dave didn't know what the hell that meant. "He also said that even fictional unicorns are less vanilla than I am."

Kurt wasn't helping his case with his vanilla-scented body wash. But Dave guessed he liked vanilla…

Though he couldn't believe that he used to want to be with Sebastian! Dave was sure he moved past that now. He wanted a guy that was less about sex, and more about other stuff, you know? But all Smythe seemed to care about was pushing around Kurt, bothering him like a fucking zit that wouldn't just give and whoring himself out. What a loser.

Blaine didn't comment. "How did your Dad handle it?" he grabbed his mocha-soaked sandwich and took a bite.

"He was furious!" Kurt replied. "Sebastian continues to have _NO_ shred of decorum whatsoever. He talked back with my dad, and then had the gall to remind me that I got him kicked out of his house by his sweet mom." 

Kurt then turned to Dave. "He told me he went to your house to do his laundry!" he yelled. "Seriously?"

Dave's enthusiasm dampened. "Uh…" he _did_ go to his house for laundry. "Did he total his car in that _rainstorm?"_

Kurt and Blaine were staring at Dave vacantly. His hot chocolate suddenly tasted like liquid diabetes.

"Yeah, he _did_ come to my house with laundry—three loads!" Dave admitted. He felt bad about it. "And he was covered in mud from the storm… but uh, I don't know. He just saw my Dad around and then he freaked out and left."

"Well, when we saw him in his mom's house, his mom wasn't there," Blaine admitted. He had no more interest in his soggy sandwich anymore. "What's Sebastian's game? Is he really homeless, or does he just want to think that he was?"

Dave didn't know that Sebastian might be homeless. Were they kidding? "He said _that?"_

"Dad said that he was sleeping in his car," Kurt admitted. Blaine looked confused, like it was the first time he heard that. "But both of us were under the assumption that he wanted to get the car fixed alone and avoid telling his dad."

Dave tried to imagine getting into a car accident in that crazy downpour and then sleeping in his car. He just didn't think of a situation where he wouldn't want to call his dad to pick him up. " _Shit_. I bet his dad was worried sick."

Kurt opened his mouth to reply, and then furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "He…certainly didn't show it."

"Seriously? My dad will be fucking crazy," Dave replied. Kurt looked like he was thinking about this, but Dave met Burt Hummel. He knew that there was no way that that guy wouldn't leap over bridges for his son.

This didn't add up! Dave sat listened when Kurt and Blaine told him about the whole _Bash-Up Mash-Up_ Facebook thing. They told him about the first post that suggested that Smythe had an eating disorder, and then later on, he faked a photo where he looked like a skeleton (Dave totally saw that picture. It was _scary_ bad) and Kurt found out that he ate a lot and posted about it on the internet. Blah blah blah. That wasn't surprising. Dave totally imagined Smythe to be the kind of guy that survived on energy piss, and cheeseburgers that were stacked tall enough to make the leaning tower of Pisa shake in terror. When Kurt got to the part of the story where he went to the guy's house and talked to his mom after Sebastian and him got into a fight, Dave felt more than just a little defensive.

" _Why_ would you do that?" Dave didn't get it. "I mean—I guess you did that with me. And he's in a different school, so you can't exactly arrange a meeting with the principal, but _why_ would you get him in trouble?"

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "I was sick of his tricks," he mumbled. "But then he told me that _I_ outed him."

"You _outed_ him?" Dave felt uncomfortable. That was _not_ cool. "I'm pretty sure he wouldn't lie about that."

Dave suddenly felt so guilty for treating Sebastian like dirt. He never even asked the guy why he wanted to use his own laundry machine. He was pissed that he had to clean the mud out of the house, and that kid had his car totaled cause he didn't run after him. If it was Kurt, he'd have run after him, you know?

"Everyone knows that he's gay," Kurt rolled his eyes. "It's kind of obvious."

Dave couldn't believe this. "You think my dad knew I was picking on you before you took us to the principal office?"

Kurt opened his mouth to reply, but then stayed silent. Blaine nodded his head sternly.

"I'm just a terrible friend," Blaine admitted, his shoulders slumping. "I'm not sure if Sebastian is really my friend but we got into a fight and I just… how can you stop talking to someone after a fight completely? I mean it's not like I texted him after the slushie fiasco but… but if I was really his friend, wouldn't I be able to tell if he has a problem?"

"Yeah," Dave agreed. He didn't think of Sebastian as his friend. Not by a long shot, but he wasn't treating him right the last few times that he came over to his house. Even if he didn't get the flowers thing.

Kurt looked stunned. "Did I _really_ out Sebastian?" he looked disgusted with himself.

"Yeah," Blaine concluded. "Kurt, I'm pretty sure that… _we_ did. When we went to his house. I don't think he lied about being kicked out either. I-I… I don't think he'd go to Dave's house and _pretend_ he needed a _washing machine_."

"I still have his clothes in my house," Dave's voice was soft. He felt disconnected from the world drama since he tried to you know—kill himself. He had such limited time online and his dad told him not to log into Facebook for a while. He didn't know that there was a Facebook page pretty much transformed to solely dedicate making fun of a snarky sixteen-year-old gay kid. "Look… I'll talk. I have to give him his stuff back anyway, you know?"

Dave felt horrible when those guys sent him the threats. He felt terrible for doing what he did to Kurt… he didn't know that he was just making things worse for Sebastian, you know? He didn't know people were doing _that_ to him.

"Yeah," Blaine nodded his head. "Do you want any of us to come with you?" he asked.

"I think it'll be better," Dave decided, but really, he didn't want to talk to Sebastian with anyone around. "But hey, besides the whole 'outed Smythe out to his parents' thing, does he really have an eating disorder?"

Blaine's ears went red. "We can't really decide cause of that photo that he posted on the internet and then the—"

"Seriously?" Dave raised an eyebrow. "It's either he has one, or he doesn't! So which is it?"

Before Kurt could answer, Blaine did. "I'm pretty sure he does," Blaine honestly said, remembering how he reacted to the carrot cake. "But I'm also pretty sure that nobody else is going to believe that."

Dave left afterwards, but he didn't know what to think. He was never around Sebastian long enough to see him eat, you know? It wasn't like he was lurking around in his school, watching him eat his lunch and plotting whether he wanted to pick on that tall gay kid that retaliated by blackmailing other kids with bad photoshopped dick photos.

But by the time that Dave got home, he saw his dad standing by the fridge. He was chugging a beer. To most people, this looked normal. To Dave, he wondered who the fuck died and killed his dad's spirits.

 _"David!"_ Paul looked like a coke addict caught in the emergency room. Seriously. His dad went by the whole 'if I don't want my kid to do it, I wouldn't do it' thing. The beers were usually for his friends. "I didn't see you."

His father rubbed his temples. "Today was a disaster!" Paul yelled. The last time a day was a disaster was when that guy with borderline personality disorder managed to get five doctors to give him enough Xanax to start a drug ring.

"That kid from the other night, the one that turned our house into a pig pen and left his laundry all over my stairs! That delinquent… _SMYTHE!"_ Paul's words made Dave's stomach squirm. "Well, he got an appointment just to… _I don't even particularly know what for!_ B-besides… testing my patience— _and_ my blood pressure. I called his father, and he invited us to his house for supper to-to square it up! And I want to go as much as I want to get a rectal exam!"

Dave did not want to think about his dad getting a rectal anything. He shuddered. His dad probably thought that having sex with a guy was probably the same as finding out if your prostate was so big you couldn't take a piss.

"But we are going," Paul sighed. "And I expect that you'd be on your best behaviour even if-if… that kid won't be!"

Dave wanted to say stuff about how he could be homeless, and the eating disorder thing that Blaine and Kurt thought he had. Truth was, Dave never paid attention to whether Sebastian lost weight. Like, how could someone that naturally scrawny lose anything _but_ that attitude? He bet the only reason Sebastian didn't result into physique violence was because the last time he tried to hit a skinny guy like Kurt, he ended up getting his own wrist broken instead.

He tried not to think about seeing Sebastian tonight, but it was hard not to. He put all his laundry out into a neat pile.

At around five in the evening, they left the house. Dave didn't feel so good when they were driving around a bad neighbourhood, looking for a house. Dave didn't think they had millionaire mansions around certain parts, and his suspicions were confirmed when Paul parked close to a house that looked like it belonged in a swamp. Was it not like a public health violation? What was up with these houses? The house that Sebastian lived in looked old, and sort of tired. It gave off that old, haunted mansion vibe that Dave thought was cool (he _really_ liked horror movies), but also that infested vibe that made Dave's skin squirm. Smythe hated public schools but take a look at that work of art!

"Sebastian won't be joining us tonight," Jean said. "His mother picked him up to go get his car from the shop."

They were eating dinner outside—in a shiny table that looked like it had just been bought like an hour ago cause it still had the noxious store smell, you know? On the table, there were pink roses they looked wilted and white lilies that looked sort like they were getting grey. Dave suddenly felt like the baby breaths that Sebastian got him looked about ten times prettier—too bad that he threw them away the second that he got them. But why would someone that was loaded, and looked like they were cut straight from an Armani catalogue live in this dump?

Dave remembered that day that he sped past Sebastian and when Smythe told him that he lived there, Dave totally called him out on stalking him. How was he supposed to really believe that Sebastian Smythe lived _HERE?_

Right now, Dave was wondering how this Jean guy managed to keep his Porsche safe in this neighbourhood.

But it pretty much solidified that there was something weird going on. What kind of kid had a millionaire father and then lived in a house that made most pedestrians shudder in horror? How come the kids around here didn't pick-pocket the guy and how come he was so comfortable sitting out in a table with his shiny golden watch anyway? If Sebastian lived here, was he technically homeless or was he like homeless before? Why did his folks split up anyway?

And the most important question was what kind of idiot would try and fix that lump of cold, sad metal parts that Sebastian Smythe chose to drive around in. Seriously. He'd seen more elegant-looking bicycles.

"This is nice," Paul lied. He hated sitting outside. It was hot as hell, and he was sweating through his three-layer suit.

Dave nodded his head. "Yeah," they were eating steak, potatoes, bread, and there was a pie covered with a thin tin foil. There was also pasta salad, and hamburgers to the side. Dave tried not to fill his plate too much. "Real nice."

Apparently, Jean said that he cooked most of it, but Sebastian helped peal the potatoes. Dave didn't know the potatoes had been peeled. They didn't look it. He didn't know if he should eat them just in case Sebastian spat in them.

They ate in silence for the first few minutes, but after the third sip of water, Jean chose to speak.

"I'm sorry about Sebastian's behaviour," Jean said to Paul. He wasn't sweating through his suit. He _glistened_ like the steak. "His mother wasn't pleased with his recent behaviour either. He used to live with her up until recently actually—a few months back, he came here. I think he's finding it difficult to adjust to the fact that we're split up."

Dave took a stab of courage—or idiocy. "She kicked him out, right?" Jean turned red but then agreed. "Why?"

"That kid is a nightmare," Jean mumbled, snorted. Then Jean bought the strong stuff out. Dave didn't have any, and Paul, who drank like one beer every five months, certainly declined. The way he drank made Dave shudder.

The guy was used to drinking this heavy stuff. Dave didn't think that was a good sign… and he didn't like this guy.

Paul didn't say anything. Cause he couldn't agree. Jean could bad-mouth his kid, but it wasn't like he was going to let a stranger do the same, right? "He is… difficult," Paul tried to save the conversation, but his dad tried to be vague. He didn't wanna say anything bad about Sebastian right now. "He won't even let the nurse check his weight."

Jean laughed like it was funny. "He's afraid that if he weighs himself often, he'd have put on a hundred pounds." Dave felt a shiver down his spine. Paul ate a piece of stuck. "Did you know he used to be three hundred pounds?"

Paul started coughing. " _WELL!_ He… looks underweight," he said. "I thought that was just his…natural body weight."

"He don't eat so he could look like that," Jean snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. "The spends all day running his legs as much as he spends it running his mouth. He gets up at five to do it, so I don't have to ask him where he's going—did you know how much fucking rabbit food he buys? I haven't seen this kid eat anything in months!"

Dave suddenly felt the need to go vegetarian. He wasn't very hungry at all.


	27. Chapter 27

_now that i've established the characters pretty well-ish... i want your opinions, guys. what do you think the endgame is? i know that Sebastian has a cute crush on Dave and it's sort of going that route... but it really doesn't have to be if you're opposed to it._

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Twenty-Seven

* * *

Sebastian was sitting in his oversized rags, waiting for his mom to finish flirting with Burt Hummel.

If that guy wasn't married, Sebastian would be in serious trouble right now because the last thing he wanted to do was share a bathroom with Lady Hummel. His delicate sensibilities might be offended by Sebastian's gluten intolerance.

 _"It looks great!"_ Nathalie said to Burt energetically. She had more spunk now that she discovered double sports bras.

Sebastian might be gay, but he noticed it when his mom flattened her double D's to baby B's. He got _eyes_ , you know.

"It wasn't easy trying to fix that hunk of junk," Burt said, and Sebastian felt like he wanted to defend his car if it wasn't for the fact that it was the reason that he nearly ate a spider today. _Ha_. "It purrs like a… well, unfed tiger."

Sebastian slowly nodded his head. "Thanks, old man," he said, nothing snarky in his tone either.

Before Burt Hummel's job, his car looked like a pile of hot metal parts that were about to burst in flames. His car looked better than usual, but Sebastian probably still wouldn't get into the cool gay clubs driving that.

Burt looked like he was about to have another heart attack. "Are you okay?" he wasn't expecting Sebastian's gratitude.

Nathalie's hand moved to hold Sebastian's shoulder. Every time he swallowed, he could feel fuzz at the roof of his mouth. Could he get a Brazilian for his mouth? He'd like a strip of spider fuzz to remember why he wanted to die.

Sebastian wanted to play it cool and smooth. Instead, he pushed his mom away and said, "I thought _I_ had AIDS!"

The way she looked like was heart-breaking. It was like he betrayed her by reminding the world that she kicked him out 'cause she thought he had a life-threatening disease. _Thank you for the fucking support_. If he did have AIDS, he'd probably have caught a cold on the night he left and _DIED_.

 _You're fucking kidding_ , Sebastian reminded himself. _Every orthopaedic surgeon probably bought their yacht off you. You're probably fucking immortal or else, you'd have died from anaesthesia complications already._

When he turned around, he could still hear Hummel and his mom conversing with each other.

"What's his problem?" Burt said, and he didn't even bother saying it nice and low, so Sebastian wouldn't hear.

Sebastian felt like he was something that existed on a football player's toes. Gross.

"My son doesn't have a problem," Nathalie said flippantly. " _His_ mother's a bitch."

Sebastian was shocked and felt a little warmth in his chest that his mom would say that. Over the years, Sebastian was sure his brain got so smashed that it computed dick as a mating option and thought that it was okay if his fractured ribs showed in his shirts. At this moment in time, his brain must be hollower than an Easter egg. Speaking of which, why were they hollow anyway? He'd rather have a fucking white chocolate Easter Egg filled with melted gold.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Burt flushed. Yeah, he already got used to that one time Jean came around and talked about how Sebastian was the reason that he wanted to slowly poison himself with booze. "I'm sure that's not true that—"

"I kicked him out of the house _MONTHS_ ago because I believed that he had AIDs," Nathalie sternly said.

 _Did she seriously say that to Lady Hummel's dad?_ Sebastian was stunned. Major points for his death pie carrot cake mom.

Nathalie cocked her head to one side. "I know that he's not a virgin. He comes in at three in the morning, smelling like he had a shower in cognac and sex. But… well, he's a guy. Aren't boys _supposed_ to be sleeping with girls?"

Burt looked like he was about to double over. Sebastian… didn't know his mom knew he was getting some. Huh. Maybe that was why he never got that lead in that play three years ago.

"I read all those health blogs and magazines. I know that my son is more than sexually active. When he told me he was gay, he was starting to look like a skeleton," Nathalie said coldly. "My son was _three hundred pounds_ and a type two diabetic at thirteen! When he lost the weight… I-II thought he looked like a bag of skin and bones! I thought that he had…—well, wouldn't _you?_ I didn't even bother with testing him. I was pretty sure because _I was his mom_. And you know how in those television shows that the mom always knows what's wrong? Even before they go to the doctors?"

"Well… um…" Burt was fumbling for words. "Look, ma'am, I didn't mean anything by—"

"Yes, you did," Nathalie cut him off. "You did. You saw how he's like and you thought that this is a terrible kid. Everyone does. I did—I… I _still_ do. But you don't know anything about him!"

Her eyes hardened, and she said, "Do you know what his father _used to do to him?"_

Sebastian didn't want Lady Hummel's dad to know anything about what his father 'used to do to him.'

After his mom spent two minutes weeping on Sebastian's shoulder—sounding like a dog that got punched for wanting food, she went to find a bathroom to fix her makeup. If Kurt Hummel had any input on how to design the place, he was sure that she would be not only able to powder her nose but also discover the magical wanders of homemade bath bombs! Sebastian shifted away from the guy, and Burt was looking at his body.

"Three hundred pounds?" Burt repeated in disbelief. Sebastian jerked his head. "You're kidding."

" _She's_ kidding," Sebastian mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. " _I_ didn't say nothing."

Burt nodded his head but kept his eyes on Sebastian's body. "But she ain't lying?"

"Yeah," Sebastian said, and then shifted uncomfortably in his pants. He didn't want to think about the fact that his thighs were so big that they felt like they erupt from his pants, like cheddar and mayo erupting from his grilled cheese.

Burt shook his head. "You need some meat on those bones," he said. "From _three hundred_ pounds? Jesus."

Sebastian had to endure his mom coming from the bathroom just long enough to hear that. She then showed Burt her woes—an endless stream of photos of how Sebastian used to look like. Sebastian felt grossed out, when she showed him pictures of him in gay clothes. Why did he try to wear a floral scarf to his homecoming and then be surprised when he got beat up with an inch of his life? How come his parents had yet to figure out that he was a fag by then?

What a joke. And people like Hummel did the same and it pissed him off. If Sebastian _thought_ of wearing pink underwear in his own house, he'd receive the finest beating of his life.

Sebastian just wanted his car back, but he had to endure an hour of his mom telling Burt how he barely ate. Great.

By the time that she left with her car and told him to call her if he got home so they could talk about what was going on, Sebastian's brain sort of melted. He'd preferred it when he threw a pie in the wall that day and his mom hit him with a spatula. At least that had action and suspense. _Do you know how tall he is? Do you know they don't make clothes his size for HIS HEIGHT?_ was not the kind of action and suspense he wanted his nemesis' dad to know.

Before he got into his car, he felt Burt's hand on his sore arm. Great. Now, the guy wanted to save him? Screw him.

"You're worrying your mom, kid," Burt said, and Sebastian wondered if this was paedophilic.

"She's a fucking bitch," Sebastian replied icily. He got into his car and slammed it shut. "She even said it herself."

His car did sail like a dreamboat. Sebastian felt jealous thinking about how smooth Lady Gay's ride must be.

He was trying to shake off the fact that Burt Hummel knew way too much about him, and if he said anything to the Cotton Candy Prince, then he'd be fucking _pissed_. He didn't even want help anymore. He just wanted to be alone.

Sure, he _did_ want someone to help him, but why the hell would he let the assholes have it easy trying to get through to him anyway? When they didn't even listen to him for months? If Blaine Anderson was going to tell him that he thought that he might have an eating disorder a year after they met, he wasn't going to collapse with relief that someone _finally noticed_. Come on. He had specialised recommendations for the Warblers not to do certain flips because he was a sixteen-year-old kid that had _FIVE_ knee surgeries. Yet nobody asked how a guy managed to smash his knees five times. Maybe they thought that he was just an expert into sinking knee-deep into bullshit.

Sebastian hated himself. He wanted to kill himself, but he wouldn't let himself be treated like second best either.

Getting home, Sebastian decided that he was going to go upstairs and try to steal a few spare dollars his dad had lying around because he hadn't had a Lima Bean fix in two weeks. When he saw that his dad was having dinner with Paul and Dave, Sebastian was more than flustered. Fortunately, they cleared most of the table. _Ha_. He spat in the potatoes.

"Nice," Dave said to Sebastian when he got out of his car. No snide comment? Seriously? "Your ride, I mean."

Sebastian looked back at his depressed, suicidal Bentley. It was still beat-up looking, but the fresh coat of paint really made it look less anaemic which was way more than Sebastian could say about himself. "Yeah."

Dave was trying to smooth over the potatoes on his plate. He didn't eat any.

"You totally poisoned these, right?" Dave asked, and Sebastian couldn't help but smile a little.

He felt his heart swell a little bit, but he didn't know what to say. He just wanted to kiss this guy. This was embarrassing. He hadn't had like a real high school crush on guys since—well, middle school.

There were butterflies in his stomach. Speaking of flies, he wanted his to be unzipped. Romantically? Like with petals.

"Your dad was a dick to me," Sebastian snorted. "No offence." He was so red faced it was funny.

Just as he turned around to head to his room, Dave grabbed his shoulder and gave his heart a mini jolt. If this was a bad romance movie, he'd kiss him, and everything would be okay.

In real life, if Dave did that, Sebastian would be dead in the week because his father would finally decipher the fact that the dick magazines that they had in Paris were _not_ Lena's.

"Can we go talk somewhere?" Dave asked, and Sebastian felt a lump rise in his throat.

"Yeah," Sebastian hated that he thought with his dick more than his head. If this was Hummel or Blaine or anyone else in the world, he'd have told them to fuck themselves with a massive cactus because they were gigantic assholes. "I know this place that sells coffee just down the street." But just so the jury would know, there wasn't a single sentence in that that implied that the coffee was _good_. More like poisoned… like the potatoes.

"If you wanna come," Sebastian was sure his butterflies turned to fire-breathing dragons. Or that was indigestion from the binge he had nine days ago on _Triscuits_. Hey. He didn't have to pay for laxatives at least. "I mean."

Sebastian was sure Dave didn't drink coffee, so it made him feel apprehensive when Dave said yes.

"Are you nervous?" Dave snorted, shaking his head. "Sebastian Adrian Smythe— _nervous?"_

Sebastian was surprised. "You know my full name?" how did Dave know? Did he wanna have like—babies with him?

He totally hated kids. But if they were adopting puppies next year, he'd be all for it.

Sebastian drove him there. Dave didn't even say a word about the fact that Sebastian had an intractable need to pass every car in the street… Sebastian rarely ever felt small, but he felt small next to Dave.

They didn't say a word not until Sebastian ordered his iced coffee, and Dave ordered something that was covered in enough chocolate shavings to make a German chocolate cake feel embarrassed. Sebastian was so hungry that he gave in and ordered this huge sandwich that he started picking off as much butter and bread.

"This is nice," Dave said, but they barely sat down, and he didn't even taste his drink yet. "The place looks quiet."

"Yeah," Sebastian didn't know what _his_ point was. It was a coffee shop in the middle of nowhere. Of course, it was quiet. The real question was how were they still in business? Cause this coffee made him choke on his stomach juice at night. "You gonna tell me what's going on, or would you prefer if we start chatting about Lady Hummel's girdle?"

Dave didn't even defend Kurt's honour. Huh. _Not_ a good sign. "Yeah," he said. "Are… you really homeless?"

He didn't even butter him up. He just went in, even though Sebastian was hard to crack. He was no crème brûlée.

"You saw my house," Sebastian replied like he expected Dave to ask, but he was surprised. "What do you think?"

"Well… your dad _was_ weird about letting me in. Are you sure that's _your_ house, or some other guy's house because your dad wouldn't trust us peasants with the address to his real mansion?" Dave was only joking, but Sebastian wasn't laughing. He was sick of people thinking that his father lived in a golden palace. That guy hated himself so much he'd sleep on hay after he tried to kill himself via a paracetamol overdose. "Hey… lighten up, Smythe."

 _"Why should I?"_ Sebastian mumbled coldly. His coffee tasted sweet today. "You treat me like fucking crap."

Sure. Sebastian liked Dave, but he was sick of trying to be nice, and getting less love than saggy tits.

Dave's ears went red. "Yeah, I did." He moved to place his hand on Sebastian's hand.

Sebastian swallowed the lump in his throat. He'd sucked so many dicks, and he'd had so many _CRAP_ shoved into his holes that this kind of stuff shouldn't matter. He could remember the last dick he sucked, but he couldn't remember the last time someone held his hand. Well, beyond his mom before a surgery, you know?

"Your hands are sweaty," Dave noticed. Sebastian wished he could shoot him.

"Do you know how hot it is outside?" Sebastian snorted, trying to play it off. "My balls are sweating too."

Dave looked like he played into it. "You know?" his voice was soft. "I still wanna get this asshole I saw in a bar once."

Sebastian didn't know how much his brain could be deprived of oxygen before he started to think that wearing glittery scarves to homeroom was a viable option. He wanted Dave. He wanted to sleep with Dave. He wanted to make out with Dave. He probably wanted to actually _be_ with Dave. But _THIS_ felt staged.

"Sebastian?" there was like three pauses and Sebastian hadn't said anything yet.

Sebastian moved his hand away from Dave, even though he didn't want to. "I ain't playing."

Dave looked a little annoyed. "What do you mean _playing?"_ he sounded defensive.

"You think I'm fucking stupid? What the hell bought this on?" Sebastian asked, trying to hold himself from exiting the scene dramatically like he was in a play—especially since he'd never gotten a lead in any play. He was not that convincing. Also, he drove the guy here. He wasn't going to leave him here. His pretty boy ass would get beat up by the neighbourhood kids cause he had Sour Patch Kids in his pocket. "You _HATE_ me!"

"I don't hate you," Dave said. Sebastian was sure this wasn't his first day sucking dick. "Besides, everyone that I seem to hate _I_ actually wanna fuck, so I'm not really sure what this is… but—…yeah, I don't know."

Sebastian's facial expression hardened. "You asked me if I was homeless and _then_ you bought this up?"

Dave shrugged. "I'm worried about you." He still sounded defensive. Was this guy going to beat _him_ up?

"Yeah… _SOOOO_ worried," Sebastian rolled his eyes. "I definitely believe that. You were _so worried_ about me the last few months that I came over to your house and you completely blew me off."

Dave raised an eyebrow. "I nearly fucking killed myself. Do you want me to swoon at your feet?"

Sebastian scoffed. "Why not?" he challenged. "You seem to do that every time Hummel glides in the room."

"Are you jealous of him?" Dave suddenly asked, and Sebastian scoffed. "Seriously. You know, I don't know what's up with you—every time someone tries to help you, you don't want it. When people are mean to you, I bet you sit at night wondering why the hell people are so fucking mean to you."

And who was Dave fucking Karofsky here to judge? Didn't this guy used to bully other kids too?

 _"Help me?"_ Sebastian choked out. "When has _anyone_ tried to help me, big guy? You're giving me this proposition that you wanna be with me, because you sort of feel _SORRY_ for me? I'm supposed to be grateful for that? What a joke. I'm so glad you wanna make out with me. Seriously? You'd be thinking about how much you'd rather be with Hummel."

Sebastian shook his head. "I ain't no fucking consolation prize, asshole." There was no way he'd be okay with that.

"And what about you?" Dave replied coldly. "You'd be thinking about how much you wanna be with _Kurt's_ boyfriend—that's why you don't like him, right? Because he stole the guy that _you_ like."

Sebastian's heart hurt. Suddenly, he wanted to bury his pain under three sticks of butter. He probably will tonight.

 _"No,"_ Sebastian responded hotly. " _I_ don't like Hummel because he's been giving a free pass to be the world's biggest bitch, and nobody seems to notice but me. He ain't as fucking nice as people think he is."

Dave snorted. "Do you know how much that kid has been through?" another stab. Sebastian was feeling woozy.

"What? A gay guy that gets beat up because he chose to wear skirts? What a _TRAVESTY!_ " Sebastian bitterly replied.

What about him? Sebastian said. He sure as hell did all he could to make sure his father didn't send him to the hospital the second he tried to strangle him with his gay scarf once. Was he supposed to believe he deserved this?

The thought that he might was too much to bear. Maybe there was something wrong with him.

Why else would Hummel have friends and Sebastian had to get old, smelly guys drunk to even sleep with him?

He never ever had a real date, you know? And it was kind of depressing.

Sebastian wasn't listening to that. Screw him. He didn't care that he drove Dave here. He could have Hummel drive him home for all he fucking cared. When he walked inside, Sebastian's first thought was to go on back, and try to stick his fingers down his throat so he could get rid of whatever he ate. As he puked in the coffee shop's trashcan behind the café (classy), he felt dizzier. He wanted to ignore it, but he was quickly losing his vision.

"What are you _doing?"_ Dave said. Sebastian's heart was racing, because he didn't think he'd get caught.

Sebastian couldn't believe he had to try to steady himself by placing his hands on the trash. "What do you care?"

"Are you okay?" Dave sounded like he _cared_. Sebastian was biting his lower lip so hard he was drawing blood.

"No," Sebastian couldn't believe that scared-mouse voice came out of him. "I can't _see_ … I'm fucking terrified."

Dave slowly grabbed his arm and helped him walk to his car. Sebastian was leaning against him, and he hated how much he liked this guy. He hated how much he liked having his hands around his arm.

When Dave got Sebastian sat down in the passenger seat of his shiny new car, he then said, "Hey. I'll get you something… then I'll be back, okay?" he was so embarrassed right now.

Sebastian wished he could drive off. His head and heart were pounding, and the black was sort of turning grey. He was fucking terrified, like he felt like when he had that fucking disgusting… thinking about the spider made him panic.

"Hey," Dave came back, and Sebastian felt so much relief he thought he might cry. "You okay?"

Dave made Sebastian sip this hot chocolate that had more calories than what he ate in the last week.

The more he sipped, the more he felt his vision coming back to him. As he was sipping, he felt his cheeks get wet. Fucking weak. Tears were slipping off his face and Dave was wiping them off with his finger.

"Hey," Dave looked at him and he looked like he _really cared_. Sebastian felt crushed. "Hey, what happened?"

"Nothing," Sebastian said, holding the cup of liquid calories in his hands. What was he going to say? _You made me upset, I made myself puke?_ Seriously. It wasn't Dave's fault that he made that decision anyway. Dave wasn't sitting around, blaming people for how he hurt himself, you know? He just took it like it was. "Look, I'm embarrassed _enough_ without you having to ask me about what fucking happened."

"Embarrassed?" Dave sounded surprised. "Seriously? You're embarrassed? Cause you _scared_ me!"

"I'm sorry," Sebastian said, and he really meant it. He could tell Dave was surprised by that too. "You know, you can drive me back home, Karofsky… _I_ ain't going to be puking in _my_ car."

Dave winced, but Sebastian's face stayed silent and stern. Sebastian knew that he was making himself throw up. He knew that Dave saw him. What was he going to do? Deny it and hope it went away?

As Dave drove, Sebastian shook his head. Seriously. He cried in the car, and that guy totally wiped it off along with the gunk that he caked with face in every morning because blue and purple were not the new black.

White rich kid that made himself puke. Seriously. How entitled could you get? It sounded like he was making himself throw up 'cause he was a chick that wanted to fit into a size zero for prom. He made fun of Kurt for being a girl, but Sebastian had just about the most chick-like condition ever. A gay guy with an eating disorder. How original.

"Are you wearing make-up?" Dave asked softly. He looked back at him at a red stoplight.

Sebastian just blew up. "Yeah," he mumbled. It wasn't even his shade, so it wasn't _that_ shocking, and he was amazed Hummel didn't pick up on it. He looked like he fucked Casper the Ghost and that asshole came all over his face. "You wanna tell me how it's unfair I hound on Hummel so much for a guy that puts this white gunk on his face?"

Dave stayed quiet, but Sebastian knew that was what he was thinking. That he was a hypocrite.

Sebastian wished he could tell him, but he didn't know how to start this conversation. _I wear this because my dad hits me so much that I'm always bruised? I look like a fucking Picasso painting underneath this! This fifty dollar's worth of face cum!_

Dave cleared his throat. "Do you…" he paused. "Do you really like me? Are you really over Blaine Anderson?"

"Is _this_ really the time to ask me that question?" Sebastian seriously asked.

Dave shut his mouth and drove. Sebastian thought that if he slept with enough guys, he wouldn't feel anymore humiliation around a guy that he really liked. What was he going to say to this guy after he saw him _puke?_


	28. Chapter 28

_this was edited many times and i really do not feel like re-reading it. if i did, i'd probably wait another month to post... i wish i was kidding!_

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Twenty-Eight

* * *

Sebastian was fucking sick of his eating disorder that nobody really believe that he had anymore.

Nearly fainting in front of Dave? Yeah, not good. He was still so mortified because he _really_ liked Dave. Sebastian would prefer _not_ pass out in a cold sweat—not until after sex. Thinking about fainting in school, or around other people made him feel like puking. Funny, right? 'Cause that was what got him in this fucking mess in the first place!

His mother called him pretty much every night, but Sebastian made a split-second decision to tell her to go fuck herself and if she wanted to fix their relationship, she better worked on it better than she did his dad's credit cards.

Sebastian was sick of being treated like crap. He was sick of treating _himself_ like other people did.

He wasn't sucking no Prince Charming's dick. Let him go screw himself for waiting _this long_ to help him out.

Today, Sebastian scheduled another appointment with Paul Karofsky again. But since he had the attitude of a snappy mouse going through cocaine withdrawal, he _tried_ to write down how he felt last night so that he'd got something important to say to the doc. Well, all he had were like seven jokes about his gag reflex.

As Sebastian sat outside of the office, he wished he had someone that would, you know, hold his hand.

It wasn't like he _needed_ someone to be there. But it would be nice, you know?

Sebastian had so many stitches and pins in him that he felt like a voodoo doll. He was a big kid, but at the same time, he was also so lonely it was kind of ridiculous. He cleared his throat and texted… Jeff Sterling. He was a nice guy.

 _Can you meet up with me?_ Sebastian texted.

 _At a sleepover with Blaine, Trent and Nick at Blaine's house._ Jeff texted back almost immediately. _Can they come with?_

 _Depends_. The only sleepover Sebastian went to was really an orgy. _Can they keep a fucking secret?_

 _Yeah, they can_ , Jeff texted back, and Sebastian felt his heart sink. _Sebastian, are you okay?_

 _Yeah_ , Sebastian didn't know if he should give them a heads-up that he was the guy with more swelling in his face than a guy's balls after they got tackled by a sweaty, totally-not-bicurious linebacker. _I'll send you the location on WhatsApp._

Yeah, he was letting like _four_ guys come see him. But… how bad could it really go? He already hit rock bottom.

Sebastian needed help. Last night when he woke up at one am to take a piss, Sebastian was almost shocked at how he looked like the death diuretic pictures he posted. He looked like a goat did after you butchered off the edible parts. Sure, this morning, he felt like a puffy pastry that was overstuffed with lard. But at the same time, all his clothes were _so_ big on him. He was wearing like three layers 'cause he was freezing all the time—dude, it was _eighty_ degrees outside. And he dependent on belts to keep him in line like Lena depended on padded bras to give an illusion of cleavage.

 _We're coming over_ , Jeff texted him. _What's your appointment for? Are you really okay? Trent made cake. Do you want some?_

 _What do you think, Sterling?_ Sebastian texted back. Trent Dixon was the kind of guy that helped old ladies cross the road and participated in like a million bake sales. He sent Sebastian cookies ( _and_ answers to their homework) after Dave tried to off himself cause Sebastian missed three days' worth of classes.

Today, Sebastian was nice enough to get on the nurses' scale when he got in, even though they'd threaten to send him inpatient to an eating disorder ward. He also came in _without_ all that icing on his face. But his face was so battered that everyone was staring at him like something out of a bad sci-fi movie. Kids were _pointing_ at him. Sebastian tried to tell himself that it didn't hurt so much, but he knew that wasn't how it _looked_. It looked like it hurt a _LOT_.

He just clung onto his files and waited for his turn. Blaine's house was like an hour away, but Sebastian's appointment wasn't for another two fucking hours anyway. Who knew there was so many basket cases in Lima? But if this didn't go well and his dad heard about it from Dr Karofsky again, Sebastian was sure he'd end up eating his teeth for dinner.

When the guys came over, Sebastian was amused how these guys went whiter than Hummel and his vanilla cake skin.

"Hey," Sebastian said, clearing his throat. "You don't look so hot."

"And you look… uh…" Jeff was running his hand through his fluffed, bedhead hair. Sebastian couldn't believe they had a slumber fucking party last night. And Trent tried to tell him that he didn't like dick—even though he took a _GUY_ , a _GORGEOUS GUY,_ to the homecoming dance that Sebastian didn't attend. As a 'friend.' Yeah right. _"Yeah."_

"What happened to you?" Sebastian didn't expect Trent to speak up. " _Who_ did this?" Trent sounded pissed.

He didn't think he'd ever see Trent Dixon pissed. And there was that time that Sebastian ate those vanilla profiteroles that he baked for the homeless. Well, in retrospect, Sebastian _did_ end up homeless so…

"Shut up and sit down," Sebastian replied. "And _nobody_ got me coffee. Great." He had a reputation of an asshole to maintain. And he really did want coffee, just none of that soy stuff anymore. It was giving him a headache.

Sebastian looked down as they shuffled to sit next to him. Sebastian was sandwiched between orange-vanilla-cinnamon Trent Dixon and Blaine Anderson, who smelled like the drip that he drank all the time. That disgusting sludge that Sebastian couldn't make himself drink—hell, he could barely stomach his own coffee order. He drank so much soy he cried every day from all the oestrogen pumped into his manvries.

Right now, he was mostly thinking about Dave again. Sebastian was pretty much _always_ thinking about Dave.

The doll-sized nurse that had condom heels and a donkey-face called for him. "Sebastian Smythe…! Room four!"

Sebastian sighed in exasperation. He looked back at his files. His fat kid files. Fat kid that used to inject himself with insulin because he was so fucking fat. Fat kid that would probably have IV Lard once just to try it.

When Sebastian knocked on Paul's door, he could practically hear Paul Karofsky contemplating shooting himself.

When he decided to walk in, his more-bored-than-Hummel's-dad-watching-America's-Next-Top-Model facial expression disintegrated. He went from looking like he wanted to punch Sebastian in the face to being unable to mask his surprise. Sebastian resisted the urge to say that the doc took his breath away and now, he was all blue.

"Hey," Sebastian said, sitting down on one of the chairs. Cue four guys trying to tell each other to take a seat.

After like five minutes, Jeff and Blaine were sitting opposite Sebastian. Trent and Nick were standing up, and Sebastian's annoyance level reached about eight hundred. He didn't know why it mattered anyway. This doc was only going to talk to him for like three minutes, before he told him to fuck off because he was a privileged white male.

"You—" before Paul Karofsky spoke, Sebastian totally cut him off.

"I did what the nurse told me to do, old man," Sebastian said, offering his appointment paper. With his… debatably 'low' weight, his low heart rate and his low blood pressure scribbled on there. You could see the numbers from NASA.

When Paul Karofsky took the paper and was just about to read it, Sebastian's heart started racing.

Before he lost his nerve, Sebastian slammed his manila folder over his desk. Unfortunately, by doing that, he managed to knock the doc's coffee mug over the floor. Coffee splattered _everywhere_. Sebastian didn't even feel bad about it either 'cause he was a terrible human being that liked the doc as much as he liked eating wallpaper paste.

Trent immediately jumped up to help clean it up. "Sorry! Sorry, Mr.. Mr Karofsky…! I'll clean this up! _SORRY!"_

Paul was red-faced, pissed off. "It's fine," he said to Trent, who frantically cleaned up the coffee spill anyway.

"It's just coffee, doc," Sebastian told him, taking back his files from the desk.

Sebastian didn't think he could let the doc read his files just yet. He couldn't believe that Paul fucking Karofsky nearly read _all that stuff_ about him—he didn't want anyone to know about his fucking diabetes. He felt sick to the stomach.

"Are you going to give that to me or not?" Paul gestured towards the files, fuming. "And where's your father?"

Sebastian was not good at not being a dick, but he was trying very hard right now. "What father?" he grumbled.

"Sebastian, are you here for a _real_ reason this time?" Paul asked, raising an eyebrow. He was so pissed it was hard for him to concentrate. "Or just here to complain about how David isn't answering your text messages?"

 _Dave? That kid that had to drive me to my fucking house after I nearly fainted 'cause I made myself throw up?_ Sebastian thought.

Paul sighed deeply. "Sebastian, I have _real_ patients. With _real_ problems."

Sebastian couldn't believe he was sitting next to this psych guy with his face bluer than his mom's death pie, and he was completely unphased. What kind of dick didn't even care if a sixteen-year-old kid had his face battered? Seriously?

"I got a real problem," Sebastian mumbled softly, staring down at his files. He felt nauseated.

"Did you start school?" Paul asked, and he talked to him like he was a little kid that didn't know English. Sure, Sebastian was born in France, but this was fucking ridiculous. "Do you want a sick l—"

" _SHUT UP_ , you condescending asshole!" Sebastian stood up and _EXPLODED_. Jeff nearly fell off his fucking chair, and Trent's aneurysm burst. "Do you talk like this to everyone that comes through your door?"

"Sit down, Sebastian," Paul said calmly. Sebastian must look like a maniac in comparison. "We can talk about this."

"Talk about _WHAT?"_ Sebastian's voice was acerbic. "How much you want to give my dad a blowjob?"

"That's inappropriate," Paul gestured towards the chair again. "Sit down and we can talk like civilised adults."

"Really? Are you sure you don't want my father to translate for you?" Sebastian coldly asked, watching Nick's face pale dramatically. "And there ain't _nothing_ civil about the way you fucking treat me!"

 _"Sit down, Sebastian,"_ Paul repeated, looking at his papers. Which were blank, apart from the part where a white French guy had a mental breakdown in the middle of the room 'cause he didn't bother bring his daddy in today.

"No wonder you couldn't tell when your own fucking child wants to kill himself," Sebastian finally said.

Sebastian saw Blaine, Trent, Nick and Jeff become wide-eyed and shocked. Paul looked like he was about to cry.

"What are you so surprised about?" Sebastian told Paul Karofsky. "Isn't _that_ what happened?"

" _SIT DOWN_ or else I will call someone to restrain you!" Paul's response was so automatic, but his voice was wobbly.

Sebastian couldn't believe that he nearly gave this doc his papers—the ones that only him and his mom had ever seen and combed through. But now, he was pretty damn sure that Dave was going to kill him after what he said.

Sebastian sat back down on his chair, and then crossed his legs over one another.

"Are you going to give me those files?" Doc Karofsky asked, and Sebastian felt like throwing them in his face.

With shaky hands, Sebastian gently put them on this guys' desk. Paul opened the file that was stamped by pretty much half the docs in France. There was no way anyone was going to say he faked it.

After like ten minutes of silence and Paul Karofsky flipping through his file, Sebastian felt his arrogance wane away.

Sebastian got so regularly beat up to the point of being a regular in emergencies and had to have several orthopaedic operations—yeah, you'd think by the sixth trip, they'd give you a discount and a free cholecystectomy, you know? In his time, he managed to hit on many nurses—and slept with a few memorable ones too. But there was so much money any hospital could take before they _had_ to say something about the kid that wound up in the ER for the fifth time that month and had more metal in his body than a Transformer. Of course, Sebastian went to different hospitals, so they didn't catch up on how bad it was. But Sebastian still wasn't stupid. And his mom wasn't stupid either. Ever since he was a kid, she used to print up these hospital reports and put them together in one file. They had tiny _Post It_ notes everywhere with the doc's recommendations. When kids were busy writing notes for math, Sebastian was highlighting his admission notes. His mom had like five copies of them at home.

That file could fucking make any reporter's career. But hey, Sebastian didn't want the whole galaxy to know that his dad broke his wrist when he was a kid just because he was bored and drunk, you know? Imagine _everyone_ that read a magazine, opened a newspaper _or had a fucking phone_ knowing your deepest, darkest secrets.

The thought was so fucking overwhelming that it made Sebastian want to hurl.

They'd fucking destroy his mom, who was so terrified that she spent most of their marriage fainting and skinny as a rail. It was like the more weight Sebastian put on, the skinnier she got. Now, she was big, and he was… not as huge.

Sebastian felt shocked to have Trent move over to him, so that he was holding his hand.

"Hey, ex-roomie," Sebastian scoffed under his breath. "Asshole."

"Hey," Trent didn't look like he knew why he was comforting the bully that got his face punched.

It was crazy his _CRUSH'S DAD_ was reading through sixteen years of hospital admissions, surgeries, anaesthesia and post-surgery complications. Sebastian even had his fucking 'formal diagnosis' of anorexia nervosa there. The depressing thing was since he got that _FAKE_ diagnosis, his weight fucking plummeted.

 _You're fucking sick_ , Sebastian told himself. _You don't think you're small, but you probably look like Jack Skellington after a diet. So, shut up. If the doc tells you that you got to eat three sticks of butter for dinner, you ARE._

When he was done reading, Paul Karofsky looked like he'd just been ass-fucked with a metal dildo.

"You still wanna talk to my dad?" Sebastian asked. There wasn't anywhere in those papers that said that his dad hit him, but it was sort of obvious. What kind of kid would come with a leg fracture before he could _walk?_

Sebastian hated that he had to say it. He hated that like five people knew that his dad punched him.

"Whatever," Sebastian said after five minutes of silence. "Can I get this over with? I have better things to do."

Looked like old man Karofsky was rereading page… whatever and Sebastian was nauseous. The more time the guy had his files in his hand, the sicker Sebastian felt. Because he didn't want anyone to know any of it.

Paul placed his hand on the table. "What…" he cleared his throat. "What do you need help with?" his voice was soft.

Sebastian cocked his head to one side. "I guess I…" he was embarrassed saying this. "I want like…"

He didn't think he'd go this far, and he hadn't rehearsed it enough in his head, you know?

He wished his mom was there, so she could tell this guy how much he didn't eat. Sebastian just wanted to get rid of this stupid fucking eating disorder suffocating him to _death_. He wanted to eat like three meals a day without wanting to fling himself off a balcony 'cause he couldn't count all of his ribs at two in the morning.

"Well, your home situation is not ideal," Paul Karofsky tried to say. "I have to talk to social services and—"

Sebastian was shocked. "I don't wanna talk to a social worker," he sounded teary. "I want to gain weight."

He hated saying that in a whole room. They probably thought that he was so fucking weak. The saddest fakorexic in the world. Like how fake were you when you told a doc that you wanted to put _ON_ weight?

Paul looked at him with a serious facial expression and then nodded his head. "I'll refer you to the dietician. Get the appointment at the desk," he said. "I'll talk to them for an appointment as soon as possible and she will be able to find a meal plan for you… _BUT_ I still need to call the social worker to get you away from this… um—situation."

Sebastian's stomach hurt seeing the curiosity on Blaine, Trent, Jeff and Nick's faces. _Why did this stupid privileged kid need social serves for anyway?_ They were probably wondering, but Sebastian didn't come here to indulge the Warbler's curiosities. He'd go bird hunting for the stupid shits before that ever happened.

"I respect you," Paul Karofsky broke Sebastian out of his thoughts. "Very much."

Sebastian was shocked. He didn't think that anyone would take him seriously. "Yeah?" his voice was soft. _"Really?"_

"Yes," Paul nodded. Before Sebastian left, he heard a sentence that made him want to hurl: "I'm sorry, Sebastian."


	29. Chapter 29

**Eat Your Words**

Chapter Twenty-Nine

* * *

Paul Karofsky took more time with him—after he kicked out the nice guy Warbler. Angry patients stomped on the door constantly for like an hour after. It didn't matter who came in… Karofsky just sent them to another doc.

Sebastian decided maybe he liked Paul a little more after he kicked out the kid that cleaned his coffee off the floor.

Plus, Paul Karofsky took a mini day off from his job to sit in an office with a kid that got beat up by his dad.

He wondered what Trent, Nick, Jeff and Blaine must be thinking of him. Or if they bolted. Even if they stayed, Sebastian realised it didn't really matter to him—cause he didn't think they actually gave a shit. They wanted to _know_. Yeah, but they weren't the kind to offer him unconditional support if they didn't know the situation, right?

 _Hey, I need you to trust me_ , Sebastian imagined saying them. _I'm_ _going through something pretty big._

The first thing that he could hear people saying was: _What's his name? And how big is he?_ Ha. How original… losers.

Hummel could tell someone he was going through a tough time, and the Warblers and Nude Erections would fucking shoot themselves dead for him! And they would _not_ totally imply that he was being ass-fucked by a cactus with a predilection for guys that had their own tiara collection. Yeah, thanks for nothing.

For a while, Sebastian and Paul Karofsky played tic-tac-toe. He lost all his games to this old guy. And it was his idea to challenge Lord Salt and Pepper Moustache to the game in the first fucking place.

When he was playing, Sebastian told him a lot of things—not about how his dad totally made him believe he didn't deserve nothing, or how his mom tried to help him out by pumping frosting in his veins. He told him other stuff, like about how he'd never had a real date with a guy. And all the guys that he had crushes on when he was younger.

 _I once fantasised eating pepperoni off this guy named Liam for like a whole week_ , Sebastian told him. _He was vegetarian, but you know… maybe we can use the fake pepperoni, that was made of peppers and Pasta Roni._

 _There was this surfer guy that I was into_ , Sebastian said. _I was thirteen, and I thought he could ride me anytime._

 _Blaine sounded like a dream. Total sex on a gluten-free stick_ , Sebastian snorted. _I had to change that because the docs just found out that I'm gluten intolerant. But you know… eat phallic shaped bread and not cunts so yeah._

Sebastian even told him about the first time that he lost his virginity. Yeah, he told a guy that still wore a three-piece-suit.

 _It was SO romantic,_ Sebastian told him. _It was in the parking lot of my school in this dance, you know? My dad was late for like an hour, and you know, I just decided to give this guy my virginity to pass the time. Out of boredom, right?_

Then he told him something that he'd never told anyone. Because it hurt.

 _You know, my dad used to like me_ , Sebastian said, and he felt an ache in his chest. He remembered the times that his dad used to take him out to the park to play. The times that his dad used to walk him to school 'cause he was lonely. The times that he picked Sebastian up from school just because he got a stomach ache? He was going to get a dog. His mom told him she loved him every fucking Christmas. And he was going to get a pony for his fucking birthday.

 _I don't know when, but once he told me that he thought I was a pretty cool kid,_ Sebastian felt sad. _He said that I got to watch out for myself. I didn't know it then, but he obviously meant that I should've fucking ducked the first time HE swung at me, right?_

It hurt a lot, just thinking about it. Thinking about how things weren't always that way, you know?

He liked to kid himself. That his dad didn't hit chicks—but his dad hit his mom too. Later on, he started painting her black-and-blue. She used to go to this battered woman's group. Sebastian tried to tell himself that Lena and his mom were out to get him, but he knew that they were nice on the inside. But he wasn't. And just cause you put sugar on it don't make it sweet. Sebastian was around them so much he probably fucked them up internally.

He used to think that Lena didn't got a right to complain. Yeah, she didn't help him when he was six, so _fucking what?_

She helped him when he was seven. And eight. And nine. And she helped him after that too. She used to fucking skip school to play his personal fucking nurse, and he used to take advantage of that, you know? Sure, she beat him up when the two members of the Ohio Gay Society showed up at their doorstep to tell them that he was evil. Sure, she told him that he gained weight. Sure, she wanted to believe that their dad turned into Santa Clause's twin, but…

Lena was also the person that didn't freak out when he told her he saw guys for the first time. And she didn't hate him completely for sleeping with _literally_ every guy that she ever dated.

Why was it that one person did one bad thing, you'd remember it? Even if it was just an _exception?_

"And where does my son fit into all this?" Paul Karofsky's tone was jovial. Light. But Sebastian felt guilty. A wave of shame just hit him square in the chest, and he wished that he could throw himself off a window.

Cause he didn't just call the doc out for not paying attention to his kid, he told Dave _all that stuff_ about how he was overweight, should've stayed in the closet—waxed his eyebrows. Sebastian gripped his pen so tight that he bet his hand vessels weren't receiving any kind of blood. He'd never be able to jerk himself off ever again. Great.

Sebastian was on his way to losing another game. He sucked at this more than he sucked actual dick.

"Sore loser?" Paul Karofsky asked him. When did that guy get so nice? He respected him? Sebastian bet that the doc wouldn't respect him so much if he knew what he told Dave that night in Scandals.

He looked worried about him. Seriously? Yeah, Paul Karofsky was. _"Sebastian?"_ his voice was soft.

"I…" Sebastian's throat ached. Like he just swallowed the devil's cum. "I… said some stuff to Dave."

When he said that, Sebastian's heart started racing and he felt nauseated. He got up, dropping his pen.

"I suppose you did," Paul looked amused. " _That's_ how people tend to have a conversation. I—"

Sebastian cut him off. "Before he—um…he fucking hit on me, you know?" he got up straight from his car. "But… but instead of just declining like, you know—a _sane_ person… I told him that he was like one hundred pounds overweight and to stop waxing his eyebrows. And then I told him that he should just stay in the closet."

He shook his head at himself. "What kind of asshole tells a scared gay guy to stay in the closet, right?" he said.

Before he could say anything, Sebastian bolted out of there so fast he didn't even got a chance to look at the doc's face.

Blaine, Trent, Jeff and Nick were still there. They totally were interested in what was going on between Paul and him, and why they were locked in the room for an hour. And if Sebastian just got an _implication_ that he was fucking the shrink, then he might engage in a heinous and perilous crime. Understandably.

"What was _that_ about?" Nick Duval asked. Like Sebastian was about to tell that pretty boy anything. "Sebastian?'

Sebastian's face was indifferent. "If I wanted to tell you, asshole," he was annoyed. "Then you'd know."

When Sebastian left that appointment with the guys, they tried to lighten up his spirits by taking him to a café.

It was one of the cutesy artsy cafés where the coffee art looked so good that you'd pay extra for coffee that tasted pretty substandard. The wafts of cocoa and filter coffee was making Sebastian nauseous and starving—kind of like Kurt Hummel's white pants made him look like he was trying to audition for a Britney Spears video. Blaine and Trent got a drip— _ha_. Sebastian once choked on a dick that was oozing gonorrhoea piss that tasted better. Nick was drinking an almond milk latte and even Jeff was going the simple route with his cappuccino.

Yet Sebastian was the fakorexic that wanted to drink a large full-fat white-pumpkin-caramel-peppermint mocha.

"Are you sure you don't want anything?" Jeff squeaked out, as Sebastian sunk into the couch.

"Yeah," Sebastian said, placing a hand on his knee. Meanwhile, his stomach was twisting like he just took a knife to his insides. Which he wished he did because suddenly, he had jumbo hot dogs for fingers. Fuck him.

Blaine was not interested in his drip. "Sebastian," his voice was soft. "Did your dad _really_ …?" he gestured to his face.

Sebastian placed a hand on his swollen cheek. "Why?" he asked coldly. "You think I punched myself?"

Blaine flinched, and almost dropped his coffee cup. Sebastian wondered why people were so shocked at the way he spoke—it wasn't like they knew him when he was oozing glitter and came with unicorn spit! The days where his Google search history included whether or not jerking off so much would disturb his delicate, snowflake hand.

"Did he do it before?" Trent asked softly, staring at Sebastian's face.

Sebastian felt relieved when the Pug Mug sitting next to him asked _that_. "No," he lied. "Now, shut up."

Yeah, because the first time a guy ever hit his kid, he was going to go all in and hit him until he looked like a Smurf. Sebastian momentarily thought of Speedy Gonzales in his room, probably eating his secret stash of rice cakes.

The tension disappeared the second that Jeff changed the subject. "I heard _someone_ had a great date last night!"

"Well, Kurt and I did—" Blaine started talking, but then realised Jeff wasn't talking about him. "Really…? _Trent?"_

"Why do you sound surprised?" Nick asked, with a raised eyebrow. " _I'd_ totally date Trent if I wasn't dating Jeff."

"Well, _I_ could do better than you," Trent told Nick, and Sebastian pretty much faded in the background. Nice.

Jeff rolled his eyes and drank a little of his fat-free cappuccino that tasted probably like sawdust. "As if!"

"How come _I_ didn't know you had a date?" Blaine feigned being wounded. "I thought we were friends! We did our chemistry homework together—well, you did them... I just copied them."

"Of course, I was on a date last night," Trent said. "I'm fabulous." Sebastian rolled his eyes. _Gay, gay, GAY_.

Sebastian felt his inner homophobe cringe every time a gay guy called himself fabulous. And he totally knew Trent was gay, 110 percent… even if the guy kept on telling him that he wasn't gay. How could you not be gay and take a guy 'as a friend' to your homecoming dance, huh? That guy probably stashed had a copy of _50 Shades of Grey_ and a pair of pink furry handcuffs in his drawers (even though Sebastian never found them).

Maybe _Sebastian_ should get a little 'fab'. He'd done every sex position possible, but he'd still never gone out with a guy.

"He was a gentleman," Trent's ears went red when he saw Sebastian looking at him. "He's seeing me tonight too."

"Two days in a row?" Nick whistled. "Well, he's probably pretty into you if he wants to see you so soon."

"I hope so!" Trent replied. _Way to be modest, you fucking faggot_ , Sebastian thought to himself. He didn't like Trent, mostly because he way too many morals. "Plus, Dave and I kissed last night."

Sebastian's heart was doing weird twisting things. Funny since it also felt like it had just been ripped out of his chest.

"Dave?" Sebastian reiterated. He was totally ruining their low-key, best friends' vibe. "Dave _Karofsky?"_

"Yeah," he replied. Sebastian liked it better when Trent was 'straight'. "We're going to go to a pizza place tonight."

"Oh," Blaine's voice was starting to irritate Sebastian a lot. Fake asshole. _Everyone_ was fake. "Where to?"

What the fuck was up with Dave getting together with guys that smelled like his grandma's purse anyway? Trent went to bed at _NINE_ , when did they got a chance to see a movie and kiss? And why would he want to see him again?

Sebastian tried to think about his relationship with Dave. Did he have one? Cause last time that they saw each other two weeks back, Dave told him that he wanted him. Sebastian thought that was pretty much a lie, but this proved it.

All his life he thought that if he just stopping stuffing his face with doughnuts, he'd be golden. But it didn't matter. Even when he was skinnier, the kids in France still picked on him. He lost most of his weight before he realised that it didn't matter how skinny he got, nobody was _ever_ going to like him. Not as a friend, and definitely not like _that_.

Blaine was taken. He got the message loud and clear. But Dave wanted him before… and Sebastian blew it.

Even after he tried to pursue Dave, even after he started to really like him, Dave didn't want him anymore.

Feeling cold and clammy, Sebastian stayed silent. They didn't actually want him there. They totally forgot about him.

After like an hour of them just talking about the different kind of dates that they'd been to (even if Sebastian wanted to say something. What would he say? _I've never been on one?_ And have them set him up with that asshole in the Warblers that slapped his ass every set they did?), they discussed lunch. When Sebastian got up, he started to feel excruciatingly light-headed, and his heart was dropping more beats than that Nude Erections kid in a wheelchair.

At a risk for sounding like a cliché, Sebastian was pretty sure his heart literally broke. It wasn't beating normal.

To be honest, these days, Sebastian was starting to oscillate between being scared at how low his weight got to being disgusted at his own fat and wondering why he ate that doughnut a month ago. Today, he sometimes felt fatter than a bucket of fried chicken to feeling like his blood was made from Splenda and he was skinnier than Kate Moss after liposuction.

Sitting there, Sebastian placed his hand on his knee. It was so bony. But the thought of eating _terrified_ him.

Their conversations pounded into his head. Blaine was thinking of painting his car. Trent and Dave French kissed. Nick's sister might be pregnant, and she was like sixteen. An hour ago, Jeff was considering going on a diet, to which Trent and Nick said they thought the most ridiculous thing that they'd ever heard. Sebastian's stomach clenched because they had more concern for Jeff than they had for him. Hey, Sebastian wasn't _thinking_ about it—he lost it.

They spent like fifteen minutes talking about it. Just because Jeff _CONSIDERED_ going on a diet.

Sebastian didn't get fifteen minutes of nothing. He got like two questions about whether his father socked him or not, and one of them was the most insulting thing that he'd ever heard. Like he'd ever _lie_ about something like that!

Before they left, he went to the counter and got himself something sickeningly sweet. A carrot cake frappe. Sebastian's vision was getting blurry. He couldn't see if they blended a carrot cake slice in his shake. Which would be gross.

"Do you guys want Thai?" Nick asked when Sebastian came back. They just left the café. "There's a Thai place here."

"Or Indian," Blaine offered. "There's a burger place too I'm pretty sure... I've never been to any of them so… yeah."

"I can do with a burger," Jeff said, the skinny guy with the cappuccino. Sebastian's heart did a flip. "Or two."

"Fat ass," Nick replied, but Sebastian's brain somehow registered that was meant to be _for him_.

They started laughing and Sebastian felt like they were laughing at him. His vision was getting worse, even when he took a few sips. Sebastian thought he might hurl. All he could think about was Trent lip-locking with Dave Karofsky.

"I think I'm going to get a salad—" Trent was cut off by Sebastian.

"Why are you going out with Dave?" Sebastian couldn't take thinking about it anymore. He would punch Trent.

"Why wouldn't I be going out with…" realisation dawned on Trent and him pretty much concluded that Sebastian _liked_ Dave. "What? You got every gay guy in Ohio reserved now? First, Blaine and now, Dave?"

"I didn't know you were competition!" Sebastian yelled. " _You_ refused to tell me you're a fucking faggot!"

"You sound like the most homophobic asshole _EVER!_ " Trent snapped, shaking his hand in the air. They were just outside the café. "We're nice to you. We come to your appointment for you, just so we can hear you tell those-those awful things to _Dave's dad!_ Even if you liked Dave, you think that he'd want you once he knows what you said?"

Sebastian didn't think Dave could ever like him. But-but… what was he going to do? The old man pissed him off!

Words got caught into Sebastian's throat. "My… my…?" was he really using that appointment angle? _"You owe me!"_

"For what?" Trent asked. Sebastian wanted to scream. "I don't owe you bullshit!"

Sebastian's hands were shaking. He kept his big fat head in check. "Thanks for nothing!"

He turned around, holding tightly onto his files. He was going to go back to his crappy house in the middle of nowhere that everyone thought was actually a mansion in disguise. He was going to cry on his rock-hard bed and ignore his mom's voice messages. He was probably going to spend the night being beat up for no real reason.

"If you want to get a date with a guy like that, you can learn how to get some fucking manners!" Trent told him.

Sebastian felt tears burning at his eyes, but he didn't dare let them fall. Manners? He wasn't the one that was snapping at the guy that just got his face punched by his dad. He didn't have to have manners.

 _If you really liked him, you'd let him have someone that was way better than you_ , he tried to tell himself.

"Okay," Sebastian said in a broken voice. His stomach twisted, and his hand was still shaking. "Whatever."

He felt like the worst fakorexic to ever exist, holding a carrot cake frappe. Sebastian tried to cross the road, feeling like he was literally about to die out in the streets. He was starting to see less and less. There were more grey spots in his vision. His heart was still doing funny stuff and he was terrified. His hands shook.

As he was crossing the street, grey spots overcame him… and then, he blacked out.


	30. Chapter 30

**Eat Your Words**

Chapter Thirty

* * *

Blaine was pretty sure for a second that Sebastian just _died_. His face turned even bluer, and there was liquified, deadly carrot cake all over the road. Blaine's heart stopped beating for like three seconds.

"Sebastian?" Blaine let out a sound that he didn't know a human could make when a _TRUCK_ nearly _RAN OVER HIM._

Sebastian's saving grace was the fact that he was six-foot-two and had all his limbs sprawled out.

When the truck stopped suddenly in the middle of the road, there were horns blaring out _EVERYWHERE_.

With his head thumping from the noise, Blaine went to drag Sebastian back to the pavement by his scrawny ankles.

Blaine realised that it probably looked like he was trying to drag a dead body across to the sidewalk. Blaine shuddered at the thought. _He's fine he's fine he's fine_ , Blaine told himself. _He just never fucking eats, so he just had to pass out. But he was with you all day long—why the fuck didn't you push him to eat SOMETHING when he looks like he's been staying a fucking concentration camp!_ When Blaine looked back at his friends, Trent was wincing like he'd just had his dick pinched.

Jeff and Nick were pretending they didn't know who that guy with the bad hair day was.

"Thanks for the back-up, guys!" Blaine told them, flinching when Sebastian's head accidentally hit the sidewalk. _OW_.

This was exactly what Sebastian needed. A bump in his head to go with the swelling and blueness in his face. It wasn't enough that his dad punched him until he looked like a blueberry. Sebastian should go for that _black_ berry look too!

"Is he okay?" Trent said, looking whiter than a Rice Krispy treat. "Blaine, is he… uh… you know… _alive?"_

 _"Of course, he's alive!"_ Blaine replied. He totally owed Sebastian money—and… a drink and… "He's… uh… _shit_."

Blaine was pretty sure he'd seen rocks with more life in them. Sebastian turned white against the blueness of his skin.

"Sebastian?" Blaine's hands were sweaty, as he crouched on his knees. He tried to feel for a pulse, but he didn't even know if he should feel excited that he could feel for one or terrified because it was very faint. _"Wake up, you d-d-dick!"_

Blaine felt tears in his eyes. _Did he try to drink liquified carrot cake because he knew he'd black out?_ Blaine wondered, as he doused Sebastian with water from his ice-cold water bottle, but all he'd managed to do was get him wet.

"We need to take him back to the hospital," said Trent _OBVIOUSLY_. "Blaine, can you… uh… carry him?"

"A fucking bird could carry him," Blaine mumbled. Even Jeff, who had the upper body strength of a worm, could carry him.

Blaine felt like he was intruding on Sebastian's personal space by wrapping his arms around the guy's waist and trying to pull him up. Waist? More like _wasted_. It was eighty degrees outside and Sebastian was colder than his mom's Christmas turkey last year! It was like a fucking ice cream cake that turned into a frozen brick! Seeing Sebastian through his super heavy jacket and oversized clothes were so different from _touching_ his sharp, jutted pointy bones.

"At least now everyone knows he wasn't faking his fucking eating disorder!" Blaine said, fuming.

Trent's facial expression showed pure guilt. Just this morning, they were all talking about how sad it was that their summer was ending, and they had like barely had a few days of freedom before going back. That wasn't fucking sad.

What was sad was this six-foot-two kid lying on the side-walk with a battered face, and the heart rate of a dying turtle!

 _"Shit,"_ Nick was trying to help Blaine carry Sebastian to his car. "What did this kid do to himself?"

"You guys are overexaggerating," said a tentative Jeff. Blaine and Nick just looked over at him with hard eyes.

"He is _NOT_ ," Blaine said very seriously. "I'm afraid that dogs might try burying him." Trent looked sick.

Blaine felt his heart sink. He always thought he was a nice person. He thought that if someone like that was struggling, he'd be the first to say something. Especially since Dave nearly killed himself a few months back. Sure, it wasn't like anyone could tell with Dave, but Sebastian was struggling right in front of his eyes and he didn't do anything. Hell, he kept on telling himself that he was a dick for not doing anything but _continued to do nothing_. Why? Because Sebastian annoyed him? Because every time they talked together, they had a massive fight and Blaine decide it wasn't worth it?

Seriously, what kind of excuse could he make up that would make it okay for him to _let_ Sebastian, someone that he once called his _FRIEND_ , pass out in the middle of the road after a stupid fight like they had right now?

That Sebastian nearly blinded him? Well, they most definitely got even fucking months ago! And all because Blaine didn't want to intervene with a guy that ran hot and cold so much that he might as well be a fucking thermostat.

Sebastian was with them _since morning_. They knew his dad _punched him_ and still spent the day talking about Jeff's chicken marsala recipe and Trent's date. A date that apparently Sebastian had a crush on too. And somehow, it turned into a bitch-fight and _blah blah blah_ an unconscious Sebastian could've been run over by a heaving truck.

"Why is he _so cold?"_ Jeff had Sebastian's head on his lap. They had to curl up his legs up because he was a skyscraper.

"I'm pretty sure it's either that he's really sick or he doesn't have enough body fat to keep him warm," Blaine said bitterly. "Your guess is as good as mine." Nobody called him out on suddenly becoming Captain Douche.

Trent's stomach flipped. "I'm going to call his mom," he said, picking up Blaine's phone. "And uh… Kurt maybe?"

Trent totally wanted to call Kurt. Kurt's domineering personality would be able to cut through this garbage but the last person that Blaine wanted to talk to right now was Kurt. He didn't want to spend today trying to tell Kurt it wasn't his fault, when it was. It was _everyone's_ fault. But Kurt got him _kicked out of his own house_ for God's sake! How was he supposed to comfort his boyfriend when he genuinely believed that Kurt just made Sebastian's life dramatically worse?

Dave was the guy that sobered them up a little. _Even_ if Sebastian lied, it was obvious that he wasn't in a good place.

Blaine's hands were still gripping tightly on the steering wheel. He was driving like… well, like Sebastian.

Ten minutes later, they got stuck in traffic! Blaine buried his head into the steering wheel, sobbing. "No, no… _NO!"_

"We should've called an ambulance," Jeff said softly, his hand running through Sebastian's dull, brittle-looking hair. It was a miracle that his hair even managed to stay intact when Jeff did that. "This is not good. What if… what if…"

 _"SHUT UP, Jeff!"_ Blaine yelled. He didn't know he could feel so deeply about a guy until this happened.

"Hey, don't talk to him like that," Nick said, but then his face softened when he saw how fast Blaine was unravelling. He was like an amazing movie turned bad last two twenty minutes. Uh… "Hey, it's okay. It's going to be okay."

"Be quiet," Trent said softly. He dialled Sebastian's mom's number on Blaine's phone. "Uh… Mrs Smythe?"

Blaine felt like he was going to sob harder when he heard Sebastian yawn and then start to open his shiny, green eyes.

"Hi, I'm Trent," Trent's eyes were on Sebastian right now, who looked like he had a bad hangover. "I'm… I'm part of that show choir group that Sebastian's in. I used to be his roommate and-and… _uh_ , he fainted on the street—"

Before Trent could say anything else, an angry Sebastian tore the phone from Trent's hand.

"Mom, I'm _fine_ ," Sebastian used Jeff's thigh like a fucking pillow. He propped himself up. "No, I ain't fucking lying."

Blaine was _SHOCKED_. How did Sebastian seem so unphased by what happened? Like it happened a hundred times before. He didn't even sound like he was hurt. He sounded _composed_. Like he just got scraped a little at the park, but after a few cookies, he'd be okay and ready to go out and play again. Knowing Sebastian? With other kids' buttholes.

Sebastian sighed, running his hand through his dull, muddy-brown hair. " _Why_ do you think I'm lying?"

"You _are_ lying," Nick said, and Sebastian tried to kick him with his shoes. Nick didn't say anything. He was probably so relieved that Sebastian was _okay_. "Well, you _are!_ We… we thought you died!"

Sebastian moved his phone away. "And your support is fucking invaluable!" he said bitterly and turned to the call.

Blaine didn't know how Sebastian turned out to be such a convincing liar. If he didn't see the guy just pass out, he'd believe him too. He didn't _sound_ like he just passed out in a cold sweat and woke up. He didn't sound terrified that he could've been run over by a truck. He didn't sound like he cared about any of it. He just sounded _pissed_. And Blaine didn't know if knowing that he nearly got ran over by a truck would change his attitude.

"No, I don't always fucking lie," Sebastian snorted, rolling his eyes like his mom was just telling him his friends were a bad influence. Sebastian _was_ that friend that was the bad influence. "When was I last honest? _HA.._. When you asked me how you looked like in your fucking dress, I told you that you looked like a cow."

Blaine winced. He didn't know how Sebastian could say that to his mom with a straight face.

"No, I'm not trying to change the subject," Sebastian said. Wow. His mom had him pegged—Blaine didn't notice that he did that when he wanted to change the subject. "And they're _not_ my fucking friends. I don't have any friends."

Blaine's heart hurt when he said that, but he realised that… well, it was sort of true, right? Sure, the New Directions and the Warblers knew Sebastian. And the lacrosse team and the track team. There were like at least sixty or seventy people that he knew, right? And he didn't have one single person he could call his friend? That was… _sad_.

" _I_ don't have an attitude problem," Sebastian cocked his head to the side. "Well, can you fucking blame me?"

Blaine tried to make sense of the rest of the conversation, but Sebastian started yelling in French. Okay, Blaine knew French. They all took French in Dalton, but he didn't know how to decipher it when Sebastian was talking faster than an excited Rachel Berry on that vitamin stuff that she took again this year just like… before the finals. Blaine managed to catch the words 'bitch, 'mom' and 'pie' coming out of Sebastian. _Uh_ … did Sebastian want pie?

As they drove closer to the hospital now, and Blaine breathed out a sigh of relief.

Sebastian had a sour look on his face when he ended the call. "Thanks for calling my mom. Real classy." He then shook his head. " _Where_ are you kidnapping me to exactly? _I'm_ not getting married last I checked."

"We're going to the hospital," Nick said softly. "You passed out in the middle of the street! You… you scared us."

"Whatever," Sebastian mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and sitting upright. He probably managed to hurt both Jeff and Nick with the way he did it. And if Sebastian didn't just pass out, they would be pissed right now. "You better drive me back to my car later. If _I_ end up getting a fucking parking violation, someone else is paying for it."

"Why are you such a dick?" Jeff said, and then went white because he didn't look like he meant to say that _right now._

Sebastian replied without skipping a beat. "Wait, so… you were worried about me having an eating disorder for half a year, but you didn't say nothing. I got kicked out of my fucking dorms _AND_ my house, and everyone thinks I'm lying for attention. My dad punched me in the face and all you can talk about is how _fabulous_ Trent is… and _I'M_ the dick?"

Jeff was speechless. Nick looked like he was about to cry, but Sebastian was stone-faced.

"Nobody is going to call my bluff?" Sebastian said seriously. " _Why not?_ You spent a whole fucking year doing it."

"I'm sorry," Trent said almost automatically. He sounded genuine too.

Sebastian snorted. "Great, thanks," he mumbled. "Now, I'm cured!" The thing was: Blaine couldn't really blame Sebastian for what he said, because every bit of criticism was pretty much warranted.

"Hey," Nick was rummaging through his bag. "You should… you should eat something."

"I never knew," Sebastian mumbled, and completely rejected the Kind bar that Nick tried to give him.

Sebastian was tougher than someone trying to shit a pound of nails. But now, all Blaine could think about was what kind of a guy got _that_ tough inside. Blaine would have disintegrated if all that crap happened to him, but Sebastian just brushed through it like it was nothing… or worse, Blaine felt like Sebastian just got used to this from _before_.

But what kind of sixteen-year-old kid got used to something like this?

Plus, Sebastian loved France. He bragged about that place all the time when Blaine and him were talking, but he never really asked what made him leave. Even though he should know… it was kind of embarrassing that he didn't.

In the emergency department, Sebastian was rude to the nurses, and hit on the doctor that came to check up on him.

After thirty minutes, a nurse inserted an IV line inside him (the nurse was new, and Sebastian actually _told_ _her_ how to put it on) and did an ECG. Blaine's dad had one like that when he had chest pain and they thought it was a heart attack, but he didn't know why they were doing one for Sebastian and it made him nervous.

Sebastian got even moodier when his mom came. Blaine was surprised that Sebastian's mom looked thinner. than before. What was up with Sebastian's family? Couldn't they just stay at one weight for longer than three months?

"What happened to your _FACE?"_ Sebastian's mom yelled. She reached out and touched it. Blaine cringed. It looked painful. Of course, tough guy Smythe didn't even wince. " _And you're in the hospital!_ You said that you wouldn't be in the hospital… _yet_ here you are, with a face that looks like you've been mauled by a hungry bear!"

Sebastian looked smug. "You should've seen what I did to the fucking bear." She just glared at him for that.

"There is no bear! Your… father did this!" Sebastian's mom said. Blaine was surprised. to hear that. Sebastian said that it was the first time that guy ever did anything—which… he lied about. "Why… why didn't you _TELL_ me?"

"You kicked me out of the fucking house," Sebastian mumbled in irritation. "You told me to _stay with him_ because—I don't know—because I had AIDS I guess. I'm sorry. Did you want me to _CALL_ you, bitch?"

"Oh," her voice was soft. "I… well, um… what _else_ did he do?" Sebastian's mom asked.

When Sebastian fell silent, she looked sombre. "Sebastian… _tell me!"_

Sebastian looked away and his mom looked like she was ready to collapse herself. It made Blaine feel so sad.

Blaine's heart stopped at how pale Sebastian turned when she grabbed his sleeve and pulled up the double layers that he was wearing. Blaine's heart ached, seeing how Sebastian's arms looked more burned than his mom's muffins.

Sebastian's mom looked pretty sure that Sebastian didn't do it to himself though. "He looks like he grilled you."

"I know," Sebastian moved his hand away from her. "I know how it fucking looks.! _I... HAVE… EYES."_

"I can't believe you let him do this," she said, and he just glared at her coldly. It just dawned on Blaine that she was _used_ to seeing that. It didn't even marginally surprise her that her husband set Sebastian's arm on fire. " _Sebastian_."

"Don't give me that fucking look," Sebastian shot back. "You're the one that _TOLD ME_ to go live with him!"

"I… I didn't know that he was… he told me that…" Sebastian's mom looked close to a breakdown.

"What? He told you that _he fucking changed?"_ Sebastian snorted. "And you _believed_ him? Just like you believed _YOUR_ own fucking story about how I fucked so many guys that I managed to get AIDS? You know you can test that, right?"

His mom looked close to tears, and Sebastian looked as cold as hard as ever. Blaine didn't know what was going on. It was such a dysfunctional family dynamic, but he still couldn't believe his mom was used to seeing Sebastian get burned. _Literally_. Forget Regina George's Burn Book! This was a whole other level!

Sebastian's mom stared at him with a sad expression. "I know," she hissed. "I'm sorry. I… but— _Sebastian_."

"What?" Sebastian hissed. Blaine watched Sebastian cross his legs over one another. He looked almost _bored_.

She shook her head. "You can't live with him anymore," she told Sebastian. "You _can't_."

"But I ain't gonna live with you," Sebastian said coldly. "No offence, but I'm fucking sick of dealing with your shit. You have more issues than _I_ do. And Lena—well, I miss sticking her tampons in Nutella, but whatever."

Sebastian's mom looked hurt, but she seemed to get it. Which made Blaine wonder what kind of relationship they had if his mom was acting like she practically deserved it. And she was okay with her kid saying she sucked donkey ass.

Sebastian's mom's face softened. When she disappeared, Sebastian curled up against the hospital bed.

"Hey," Blaine reached over to hold Sebastian's hand. It was still very cold. "I'm sorry."

Blaine was expecting a cold retort, but Sebastian's eyes almost softened for a second. He moved his hand away from Blaine, just so he could wrap his arms around himself, probably from the fact that he was freezing half to death.

"I _know_ ," Sebastian said. And then he fell asleep.

Sebastian's mom came back after he started snoring and drooling all over the equipment.

Sebastian's mom talked to Burt Hummel over the phone too. Apparently, Sebastian was staying with Kurt—and Blaine was sure that neither of them would enjoy that prospect. With Sebastian shuddering from the cold, Sebastian's mom unzipped her gigantic jacket and covered Sebastian's body with it. She was wearing a dressing gown underneath.

It just dawned on Blaine that she came here as fast as she could to see him.


	31. Chapter 31

_i reread this to edit, but to be completely honest, my internet died last minute and i don't want to re-read this. i might never actually update if that's the case._

 _if it helps, the next chapter is not exactly happy either, but Burt and Kurt get involved._

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Thirty-One

* * *

Everyone was treating him like he was made out from fucking glass, and Sebastian was sick of it. Lady Hummel and his dad came over to pick him up because he was supposed to be living with the Gay Society Rejects.

Sebastian gagged at the thought of sharing a bathroom with Hummel. Sebastian decided he was going to assert his dominance by eating a lot of wheat. Then he would have to take multiple dumps in Lady Gay's glittery, porcelain throne, and that would let Hummel mentally know that he was the alpha dude. Even though tonight, they would eat low-fat spaghetti with avocado and tomato sauce for dinner, and they might have actual _family time_. Like the kind that people thought of fondly. Thinking about it, Sebastian would probably want to shoot himself with Burt's hunting gun. Worst of all, he'd have to hear Kurt _SING_ … Ha! He'd rather hear Burt Hummel get a fucking rectal exam.

 _What kind of fight did you have with Trent?_ Dave texted Sebastian. _You KNOW that you and I are not fucking together, right? Or do you just assume that every guy that's even a little interested in you is automatically going out with you?_

Sebastian was pissed that Dave would ask him that. Of course, he knew that they weren't together. It hurt him every day that they weren't together. Especially since Sebastian was pretty sure right now Dave deserved a whole lot better.

 _I think it's pretty fucking crappy what you said to Trent_ , Sebastian would bet that Trent told Dave, but he told him before he collapsed in the middle of the fucking street 'cause he didn't drink enough liquid cake. He wondered if Dave remembered that day that he threw up behind the dumpster. It was so romantic. _I don't fucking belong to you. And every time I think that I like you a little, I find out how much of a PSYCHOPATH you are. So… can you please fucking STOP?_

 _Yeah, I can stop…_ Sebastian texted back. _Can we still be friends?_ His heart ached, thinking about how Dave saw him.

 _When were we EVER friends, Smythe?_ When Dave sent that, Sebastian didn't send nothing back. He felt like he'd had a steak knife jammed straight into his chest… Dave's rejection hurt more than any of his father's blows.

For his discharge, his mom packed all his old stuff from his room that he didn't manage to fit into his car when he left.

Sebastian valiantly resisted the urge to tell her that he hoped her gynaecologist managed to shove her copper coil so far up her uterus he'd end up tearing a hole into her brain.

Unfortunately, it wasn't like that would hurt because there wasn't anything in her head but _air_.

 _I'm sorry_ , Sebastian could almost hear the doctors saying to his mom sixteen years ago. _The two abortions you tried to do didn't work out so well… because your baby is actually a loveless parasite that likes to suck dick. He will manage to contract AIDS at the ripe age of sixteen. Fortunately, he will serve as your alcoholic husband's personal punching bag. He will also spend countless nights trying to prevent his father from killing himself with a bottle of bleach every time he talks to you._

She made him a giant pie. Sebastian also resisted the urge to make a spunk joke about her hand-spun whipped cream.

"It's a pumpkin pie," his mom told him when she gave him the portable death sentence. All her time on Pinterest resulted in her making this beautiful pie that looked so good that Sebastian wanted to mouth-fuck it. But Sebastian still sort wished he'd had died, and someone made his mom a fucking pie. "You _do_ like pumpkins, don't you?"

Of course, Sebastian liked pies. How did he get to three-hundred-fucking-pounds if he didn't like pie? It was warm on his lap, and he guessed it smelled nice. Like the kind of pie that you'd write home about—wait… _HA_.

"Do I _look_ like I eat pie, mom?" Sebastian mumbled in irritation. He just _thought_ that Dave and him were friends…

"You don't look like you eat anything," his mom said. "You're past thin, Sebastian. You look _sick_. Like you're _dying_."

"Thanks," Sebastian replied. If he looked so much like he was dying, his boarding school would do more. His fucking principal thought that he was the kind of guy that skipped meals during exam time. Yeah, wise-guy. That fucking explained why this sixteen-year-old kid had a BMI that was low enough to get him institutionalised.

Sebastian's own body scared him sometimes. You know, in the times that he didn't feel like a tub of lard.

His mom looked at him with worry on her face. Yeah, Sebastian appreciated it _so fucking much._ "Call me every day."

"You'll take what you get," Sebastian replied icily. "You should be fucking lucky if I'm calling you at all."

 _That's how Dave feels about you_ , a voice in Sebastian's head reminded him. _NOBODY fucking_ _likes you._

Before Burt Hummel could say anything about how much of an asshole he was, Sebastian's mom looked up at him with a hardened expression on her face. Sebastian was pretty sure that their fucking relationship might not be salvageable. She thought sending him to _Burt fucking Hummel_ would make him _like_ her? What a joke.

"Hey, kid," Burt grabbed the bags that his mom got him. "It's a long drive back to—"

"I have stuff in my dad's house," Sebastian cut him off. "I _want_ that stuff."

He wanted to get Speedy Gonzales and stuff him under Kurt's pillow to see what would happen.

"That's not a good idea," Burt said to him. Sebastian was sick of people telling him what he could or couldn't do. "If you write the stuff on a list maybe, then… I can go on another day and—"

"I'm not telling you what I _own_ ," Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Do you know how _pistachio_ _lube_ looks like?"

Burt looked at him with a soft expression. "Kid, we can replace that stuff. You don't have to go and get it."

"Why?" Sebastian asked coldly. "Cause you're afraid my dad is going to _hit_ me? You and your son and everyone else are suddenly my fucking knights in shining armour? He's been hitting me for fucking _years_ —and I wish he was just hitting me. He got a fucking sick sense of torture. _I_ want to get my things today… and _I_ want to do it alone."

"Dad, let him do it," Kurt's voice was squeaky. "We're going to be waiting out. His dad's not gonna do anything."

Sebastian knew that his dad was going to do plenty, but he'd rather get hurt than have Burt as his body guard.

"I just want it to go on the record," Sebastian said, " _I'd_ rather get beat up every day than live with you."

In the car, they didn't say nothing even when Sebastian was snarky about the directions to his house.

Kurt was staring at him like he was the one that was about to fall apart any second. People were treating him with the caution of a bunch of guys trying to carry a plasma TV upstairs—and Sebastian didn't know how much he could keep it inside of him with people treating him like that, you know? Like they expected him to fall apart any second.

 _Do you know how much I want to hurt myself?_ Sebastian looked at Kurt. He was thinking about how he wanted to die.

Sebastian would normally be driving when these thoughts came into his mind. Sadly, he hadn't gotten into a crash yet.

He _did_ cry like clockwork though—usually in the Lima Bean parking lot whilst contemplating whether he should run an extra mile today after inhaling dust, arugula (with spray-on olive oil to make it more palatable) and black coffee, or if he should scoff down a Big Mac with large fries before hitting up that place that made the grossest cheese fries that Sebastian ever stuffed in his face. Sebastian was so disgusted at himself last week, he stuck his fingers down his throat again. Unfortunately, he only gagged like he had a giant dick into his mouth… he should be _so_ embarrassed!

 _Don't forget to stuff your kid with Frosties, Dunkaccinos and Moolattes instead of giving him your plastic tit milk! Give him diabetes before he gets his first zit! Make sure that at twelve, his BMI would hit 45! Suffocate him with your sugar and icing until he doubles over from a love-induced heart attack—it's the only way that he could be loved._

 _It was the only way that he could be loved_ , Sebastian repeated in his mind. _Only way he could be fucking loved._

Funny that when he stopped eating he realised that his pathetic life boiled down to the excitement of eating a warm chocolate-chip cookie before he went to bed. Because he could pretend that warm feeling in his stomach was _LOVE_.

Instead of flirting with Fritos, Sebastian decided to go home after he spent his day in the Lima Bean doing nothing.

Home! Home where the cockroaches spent their time chilling in his bathtub, waiting for him to take a piss before they gave him a coronary. Last week, Sebastian wet himself like the arthropod-hating pussy he was when he saw a motherfucker bigger than his nipples—yes, Sebastian had _gigantic_ nipples for whatever reason. All that Nutella he used to inhale by the jarful probably made him produce excess amounts of oestrogen. To further compound the fact that he had an obvious oestrogen excess, he _shrieked_ when he saw the little eight-legged bastard. Mind you his shriek was not unlike Hummel after discovering he broke a nail no doubt. Speaking of Hummel, Sebastian _should've_ sent him a picture of his piss-stained underwear, so he could put it on Facebook—with a good view of his newly acquired love handles.

His diet of air and coffee only seemed to make his thighs expand by the nanosecond.

Tomorrow, Sebastian would scare the small boys off with his thick, white stretchmarks over his full-fat cottage-cheese skin. He will make them weep when he pulled off his shirt to show off his arm lard. And they will put pizza slices in his gym bag so that he wouldn't forget about the fact that shins weren't supposed to jiggle.

Burt Hummel was driving him back to his dad's house—his home. His mom was up front, looking angsty and worried. She reminded him every three minutes that it was a bad idea that he was heading back home.

"He used to beat you up," his mom reminded him. "He still beats you up. He literally put your arms on—"

"I _know_ what he fucking did, mom!" Sebastian cut her off with an annoyed facial expression. "And it's _your_ fault."

When Burt Hummel got close to his dad's neighbourhood, he looked sick. His mom and Kurt Hummel looked like they were about to burst into tears. Sebastian just sunk into his seat. What good would it do that they felt bad _now?_ Not three months ago… _NOW?_ His whole summer was him being sent to the hospital for surgeries instead of chilling at the pool. When guys were reading books in cafes, Sebastian was busy getting IV drips and anaesthetics.

When he got near the house, Burt Hummel looked white. Sebastian just left the car, gave the old guy a meaningful look so that he didn't follow him and then headed to the door. It was left ajar, and it smelled like rat piss inside.

For a summer, this place was home! Home! Where Sebastian could find pieces of fruit that belonged in a museum!

Sebastian was going to head upstairs, but then he heard a gag. He thought that maybe his dad was going to come out as gay, but then he wandered into the kitchen to see his father, dressed in Louis Vuitton's finest, slumped by the fridge, drinking mouldy-looking Hershey's chocolate syrup right out of the bottle.

"Dad," Sebastian's father was so intoxicated that he was mistaking chocolate liqueur for _actual_ liquor. _"Stop."_

"What did you fucking come here for?" his dad said. "You _RUINED_ me! Did you know _WHO_ called me today?"

Sebastian leaned towards him, grabbing the bottle of chocolate syrup from his hand and having him stand up.

His father's big, soft hands were shaking. At that moment, Sebastian chose to ignore the fact that his father started hoarding vaginal creams because he didn't know what to spend his money on.

Apparently, _appropriate counselling_ , _antidepressants_ (or antipsychotics) and an _alcoholic rehabilitation programme_ was out of reach for the guy that once got himself a pair of cotton underwear that were covered in diamonds for the sole purpose of being able to say that people could kiss his diamond-crusted ass. A week ago, the same guy was laughing, and told Sebastian that he was going to send the vaginal vault creams to Nathalie because she was always a 'dry bitched cunt.'

Sebastian became even gayer when he heard that statement. That, and he was desperate enough to apply a forty-dollar vaginal cream on his new wounds just to see if it kept _him_ from being a dry bitched cunt.

The more his father pushed him around, the more he'd been sending poorly constructed threats to Kurt Hummel. So, it should be fun spending the next school year with him, right? Hummel was heading off the community college, and Sebastian was in for another year in Dalton. But before Sebastian and Kurt met at the emergency room today, Sebastian sent Kurt a picture of condoms and told him to use this sophisticated level of protection whilst he fucked himself. How nice. Sebastian was the nicest fucking guy on the planet.

That was why Dave didn't like him. Kurt Hummel would never send condom pics… probably because he didn't know what they were. You had to have sex to use condoms anyway.

"Dad, you're fucking killing me," Sebastian said, when he tried to take his father to the bathroom. But to his chagrin, his father puked _before_ they got anywhere it. Sad thing that Sebastian wasn't even fazed anymore. Even as the scent of undigested cherry pie and Hershey's chemicals travelled up his nostrils, Sebastian didn't feel sick. _"Seriously?"_

"Do you know what you did to me?" his dad told him. "Do you know how long it took me to build what I had?"

His father started shaking, and sniffled. It was amazing how this man transformed into a capable, hard-working CEO at six every morning. The kind that hosted galas, ran six miles a day, and ate power salads. It was magical.

"Your mother wasn't supposed to have you," Jean said, in annoyance. "She tried to abort you—"

 _"—twice,"_ Sebastian heard this every day. "Yeah, I know. You remind me every day. It's _very_ endearing."

His father hacked up more stomach juice. Sebastian looked for a mop, even though he didn't need to since their carpet was already a Jackson Pollock of different regurgitated chemicals. Last week's purple goo dried before Sebastian could clean it. Sebastian suggested buying a clean carpet, but he was met with his father's favourite Armani belt.

Jean stared at him with glossy eyes. "I once…"

 _I once what?_ Sebastian thought bitterly. _Seb, I once made it through a night without throwing up my food? I once made a night without getting dangerously intoxicated! I once threw my boxers at a neighbour who told me that he was shocked that there were bugs desperate enough to live in this puke hole? I once wished I'd started punching your sister instead of you because you're pathetic!_

"I once thought of grabbing you by that stupid throat of yours and suffocating you to death when you were two," Jean told him. That was news to him, but Sebastian remained expressionless. "I regret that I didn't."

Sebastian didn't even need a birthday card this year. This statement was enough to warm his heart for the next coming few decades. Not many sons got to say that their father regretted not asphyxiating them when they were babies. He snorted and then just cleaned up the puke with the mop. He spent forty-five minutes scrubbing it and then vacuumed, and the carpet still looked like it was meant to be incinerated before it caused a pandemic in Ohio.

 _Are you okay?_ His mom sent him a text. _You've been in there for a while._

 _Do you need someone to come help you?_ Kurt also sent him as a text. No. Sebastian didn't need anyone's help.

Meanwhile, his father was passed out somewhere in the kitchen. His new maggot friends kept him company.

After Sebastian finished cleaning, he went over to make sure that his father hadn't choked on his tongue in his sleep or manage to drink himself to death (Sebastian was always shocked that his father hadn't _died_ from intoxication.)

His anxiety peaked when he noticed his father wasn't lying on the ground after all…

"Sebastian?" he heard the backdoor open—his father always kept it open and saw his mother walk in. She suddenly looked very small in her clothes, and she looked very shocked. _"Sebastian?"_ she reiterated, tears welling up in her eyes.

She looked down at his gloved hands, and the bucket that he'd been using to mop the carpet with.

"What are you doing? You're not his fucking servant!" Nathalie was shaking right now, and suddenly, Sebastian remembered how terrified his mother was of his father and how she used to wrap her long arms around him when he was smaller and tell him that she was going to leave him for good this time. _"Get your-your things!"_

He heard an alarming sound coming from upstairs that didn't sound like the usual ones: a moaning whore, his father's TV playing in the background or him sobbing into a toilet bowl (like father, like son, right?).

"Does he know about-about… that you told…?" Nathalie stuttered.

"Yeah," Sebastian said in a whisper. "Look. I'll get my things, okay?" but he couldn't just leave his dad either. He looked like he might actually kill himself tonight if-if you know, something happened.

Sebastian noticed, when she put down her bag, that there were the new chocolate Oreo thins inside.

He loved them. In fact, he once ate a whole packet of them and then told his mother not to bring that stuff into their house because he didn't want to put all those hydrogenated oils in his body. He could hardly care for them now.

When another sound echoed through the house, Sebastian sprinted to his father's bedroom as fast as possible.

That guy was almost close to unconsciousness seconds ago! How could he have gotten to his room so _fucking quick?!_

Sebastian wondered, but he didn't get to wonder about something so _insignificant_ for long because the second he got into the room, he was greeted by the sight of his father with a _GUN_ with a shaky hand. Sebastian felt himself have about a few successive mini heart attacks. He could barely breathe.

 _"JEAN, PUT THAT DOWN RIGHT THAT INSTANT YOU'RE SCARING SEBASTIAN!"_ his mother yelled.

He could barely think because his father shouldn't—his father wouldn't—his father _couldn't_ …

"Seb," Jean had never once in his life called Sebastian that. Not even when he was in the ER last week from acute alcohol intoxication. They gave him thiamine, chlor _something_ and told him that he looked a lot like that gorgeous billionaire / CEO that was probably on a cruise to Bali right about now. _"Sebastian… Nat._ Honey."

"Oh, shut up," Nathalie said, clenching her jaw. "Do you want to traumatise Sebastian for life? He's _SIXTEEN!_ "

When Jean bought that gun to his head, Sebastian's heart practically stopped.

"I love you, Nat, I really do," Jean asked softly. "You do know that, don't you? Do you know what he did to me? Do you know that everyone knows? Everyone? I'm going to lose everything? Everything that I…"

 _"STOP!"_ Sebastian lunged forward, trying to grab the gun, which he wasn't sure was loaded. _"LET… GO!"_

 _"SEBASTIAN!"_ Nathalie tried to grab him, to stop him from getting involved.

"What's the point of living now?" Jean admitted. "Did you know how much I loved you? _All_ of you… even you, Sebastian, even you." Sebastian just shuddered into his mom's arms. Deep down, he knew his father used to like him. He used to love him. They used to be happy. What did he do to fuck it up so bad?

"You fucking liar," Nathalie hissed. Jean was sobbing, and Sebastian was stunned. "You lied, you lied, you _LIED_."

"Every time I hurt you, Sebastian… there's always that risk that you might die… and it'll be just like I suffocated my two-year-old baby," Jean ignored Nathalie. He laughed, and it was empty. "What kind of sick bastard wants to suffocate his two-year-old son? But you just wouldn't stop fucking _CRYING_. You stupid fucking—"

 _"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"_ Sebastian tried to grab the gun from his father's deadly grip (ha. Deadly? Gun? Get it? Fucking hilarious when you might have a heart attack any second) but he couldn't. "You're… you're _crazy!"_

Sebastian didn't notice that he started crying too. His mom looked scared now.

 _"DAD! DAD!"_ Sebastian shrieked. "Dad, _STOP!_ Dad… Dad…" he cleared his throat.

Jean tossed him aside, slamming him straight into a wall like he was just a six-year-old. His mother screamed and fell to his side. She wrapped her arms around him protectively, because she knew that his father wouldn't hurt her again.

 _"STOP HIM!"_ Sebastian screeched to his mother. "Stop him!"

"Put the gun down, Jean!" Nathalie said. She slowly moved away from Sebastian, standing up. She was quaking in her old Jimmy Choos. "I'll come back to you. Me, Lena and Sebastian—and-and I'll marry you again. I'll… I'll…"

Just as she said this, his father place the gun on back on his head. She was bluffing. He knew.

Sebastian sobbed even louder. Because his father was going to do it. Sebastian _knew_ that he was going to do it because he already had a will straightened out ages ago. If Jean died, then billions and billions of dollars would be in his mom's account tomorrow. He'd been trying to blackmail her with it for years now. _If you'd come back with me, I'm going to give you the spa of your dreams!_ Jean would say. _Everything you ever want!_ And he gave her so many gifts years ago. Every day, he'd give her something new, something different. Every day, she told him that she hated him. Looking at her now, Sebastian could see how badly she wanted him not to hurt himself, but he just screamed, _"YOU'RE LYING TO ME. YOU DON'T WANT ME BACK. YOU DON'T—YOU…"_

"Dad, Dad," Sebastian was scared if he didn't' say something, he'd end up with a dead father. "Dad… I'm _GAY!"_

All he could remember was the way his mother's face turned white and she yelled, _"SEBASTIAN… NO!"._ His father went silent. Then he grabbed Sebastian by his shirt, slammed him to the ground and pointed the gun to his head.

Sebastian's breathing turned high-pitched and wheezy. He was actually terrified he might die.

 _"LET HIM GO LET HIM GO LET HIM GO… NOW!"_ Nathalie screamed out, horrified.

Sebastian's head pounded, but even her screaming felt like a whisper to his numb, heavy head. Sebastian's heart jumped when he heard it go off, destroying one of their many mangled carpets.

Jean picked Sebastian up and dragged him upstairs with one hand, the other still on the gun. It wasn't exactly hard for a guy that used to do the same to a three-hundred-pound kid. " _Someone_ needs to straighten you out, Sebastian."


	32. Chapter 32

_to one of my **Guest** reviews... yes! Sebastian outed himself to prevent his dad from killing himself. to __**HarryPotterLover333,** i just loved you mentioning that Dave/Sebastian detail so much i had to say something about it! as for Kurt and Burt... well, this chapter is in Kurt's POV so, you're totally right! enjoy everyone.  
_

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Thirty-Two

* * *

Kurt couldn't believe that they were smack in the middle of nowhere. In a place in Ohio he never knew existed.

Sebastian's house looked like rental space for a film student's bad horror movie. Even the shady places that Kurt saw in _Breaking Bad_ looked nicer than this dump. Honestly, Kurt thought that a meth lab might actually smell much more sanitary than the stale air that he breathed in when he decided to roll the windows down because it felt 'too stuffy.'

He wished he had Nick's inhaler. Kurt didn't feel like he could _breathe_ … but he guessed it wouldn't help his jitters.

 _I bet that Sebastian never told anyone that 'it' was too stuffy_ , Kurt told himself. He guessed he should try to be nice to Sebastian now, and not mention how much he liked getting stuffed by dicks. Because food just didn't do it.

 _Why did I just say dicks in plural? Like… Sebastian didn't just sleep with one guy at a time?_ Kurt debated with himself.

If he was Rachel, he supposed a chai latte with raw honey would probably help calm him down. If he was Sebastian, maybe three strong painkillers and a prescription to Playgirl might help smooth his anxiety.

As he debated about Sebastian's sex life (well, not _debated…_ ), he got redder than infant with eczema.

Kurt tried to busy himself by staring at the house. He'd seen five-year-old stage props in the drama club that looked like they were in better shape than Sebastian's house. That overgrown, sad shack was below par even for someone that barely scraped minimum wage. To start with, the windows had more cracks in them than the Glee props that got destroyed with Finn's dancing. Oh, all the weeds managed to die to save themselves. The house's beaten-down door wasn't even closed… Kurt wouldn't dare Puck to spend a night in that house. But Sebastian slept there _all summer._

"I can't believe that Sebastian sleeps in there," Kurt told his dad. He'd been thinking a lot about Sebastian… sleeping.

 _Really?_ Kurt could hear Sebastian's voice in his head. _No thanks, Pinocchio. I only sleep with real boys._

Burt shook his head. "I'm surprised that moths sleep there, kid."

Kurt shook his head. " _Trent_ got him kicked out of his dorm. And everyone else didn't want him around," he explained. "And because of that, Sebastian is stuck living in this wasteland. Because of a silly _competition_."

Sure, Sebastian hit Blaine with a slushie. But he didn't do it over and over again. Maybe to Santana (but he didn't put salt in _that_.) But Kurt _knew_ Sebastian was homeless and he still put the pictures up online. Now, _that_ was a low blow.

Trent probably would let Sebastian stay in that room forever now.

He couldn't believe that Jean Smythe, the guy that was in _Top Ten Tips for Great Abs,_ was living in this worm-infested cesspool. Apparently, tip number one was to live somewhere that constantly stimulated your gag reflex.

Dalton's sewage system was cleaner. Kurt even saw cleaner things in the toilet after Finn's weekly chana masala.

"I wore designer Prada today," Kurt squeaked out in fear. " _And_ I easily bruise."

They might even actually get attacked, sitting here in Burt's nice car. He couldn't believe Sebastian's mom made him pumpkin pie. Sebastian! That guy that would probably get rid of his _appendix_ just to lose a few pounds.

 _And you knew deep down that Sebastian meant it when he said he was homeless_ , a part of Kurt said. What kind of gay guy lived in this neighbourhood? If Sebastian walked around with something that wasn't so manly it made a male cat transition into heat, he might actually die the next day. _You picked on a HOMELESS gay kid. Congratulations._

"That kid is also gay, right?" it was like Burt could read Kurt's mind. "Is he safe living here… with that orientation?"

Kurt hated thinking about it. "I'm surprised he's not dead." And he meant it.

Storming out of the house was Nathalie in her cupcake-patterned baby-pink dressing gown. She looked like she was about to break down in tears any second now. Burt and Kurt immediately got out of the car when she came around.

Nathalie was white in the face. "There was a…Jean just— _Sebastian_ ," she stammered. " _Hehadagun_."

"A gun?" Burt reiterated. "That fucking bastard has a _GUN?"_ Kurt was pretty sure that neither of them thought Jean was a bastard on the day that Sebastian came over to get his car fixed.

 _What was up with that kid?_ Kurt remembered his dad telling him. _He should count his blessings._ Right now, Kurt was pretty sure that Sebastian would find it hard to count his blessings if he _DIED_ tonight.

Kurt's heart beat was racing. Burt bolted into the house and he followed his straight after.

"Kurt… _NO!_ " Burt told him, but even just standing outside, Kurt felt his stomach ache. "Kurt, stay in the car."

"No," Kurt was stubborn, and Burt was actually worried about Sebastian's safety. "I need to see if he's okay."

Burt heard something break and Kurt's heart did a Warbler-inspired backflip.

"Fine!" Burt gave up. "But stay close and don't wander around, okay? Don't wander around. And… _call the police!"_

Kurt's nausea intensified when he walked into the house and was assaulted with pans upon pans of pasta covered with _MAGGOTS_. The kind that you know, lived in _decomposing bodies_. There were broken photographs everywhere. The broken glass was covered in blood and amorphous bodily fluids that Kurt was not sure belonged to real human beings. The multi-coloured carpets had more holes in them than Finn's favourite jeans. The wallpaper was stripping down and decaying. There was a stale, sour and almost acidic smell wafting from behind the wall. The television and lamp were shattered... it was a miracle that that Sebastian lived somewhere where there was electricity _and_ plumbing!

Overwrought with guilt, Kurt could do nothing but just stand there, trying to imagine this six-foot-two gay guy that used to laugh at him in the Lima Bean lived _HERE_. For three whole months.

 _"YOU JUST HAD TO BE A FUCKING FAGGOT!"_ Kurt flinched hearing Jean Smythe violently yell from upstairs. _"JUST WHEN I THINK THAT YOU'VE RUN OUT OF WAYS TO DISAPPOINT ME!"_

"Please stop," Sebastian's voice was soft, but it echoed through the room they were in. Loud enough for Kurt to hear. "Please." Kurt had never thought that hearing Sebastian beg was going to be so gut-wrenching.

 _"DO YOU KNOW WHY NOBODY LIKES YOU?!"_ Jean's voice made Kurt's heart sink in his chest.

Because he thought that too. He sometimes thought to himself: _Does Sebastian wonder why people don't like him?_

But right now, Kurt was the fool that was standing here in the middle of an house that had the grace and love of a hungover frat boy. If he was a sociopathic lunatic that happened to like torturing sixteen-year-old kids.

Nathalie had already called the police. Kurt couldn't believe that just this morning, he was ranting about how terrible it was that he was going to be going to community college! At least he _had_ a future. And _he_ didn't have to sleep in—

 _"KID!"_ Burt yelled from the bottom of the stairs, breaking Kurt out of his thoughts. "We're coming for you!"

When they got upstairs, it looked like a crime scene. Everything was bathed with lashes of red and it stunk of sweat.

The thought that all the blood was Sebastian's made Kurt terrified. How much blood could someone lose before they _died_ anyway? He felt like he wasn't dressed right, standing here in his new pair of white pants, and his clean-cut black blazer. If this was a horror movie, he would've died way before even entering the haunted house for being an airhead.

 _This IS a horror movie_ , Kurt thought. _This is the most terrifying thing that I've ever seen!_

Kurt's heart did a flip that maybe only Blaine and the gymnastics team could do when Jean Smythe left one of the rooms. He was carrying a papery-looking Sebastian from his blood-drenched chocolate-brown hair. From his hair!

Kurt didn't think that people were heartless enough to drag dogs by their _HAIR_ , much less their own child.

When Burt and Jean locked eyes together, Jean pulled drowsy, panting Sebastian up. He was _pouring_ blood.

"Jean," Burt said. Kurt never really saw his dad this scared before. "Jean, listen to me…"

 _"NO! YOU LISTEN TO ME! EVERYONE LISTENS TO ME… NOW!"_ Jean's hand was gripping so tightly onto Sebastian that whatever blood was in his eerily pale face disappeared. Sebastian was missing teeth. Multiple.

"I'll kill him," Jean threatened. Before Burt could say anything, Jean pulled out a gun from his suit. "I _swear_ I will."

 _"STOP IT!"_ Nathalie said, her voice teetering on the edge. _"LET GO OF HIM LET GO OF HIM!"_

"Sebastian?" Kurt managed to squeak out, looking at Sebastian's vacant, soft green eyes.

"Jean! Jean! Listen… are you really going to kill your son?" Burt asked. Kurt couldn't believe that Sebastian's dad literally had a _GUN_ to Sebastian's head. The scary part was that Kurt just realised how much younger Sebastian was. How scared he must be—because Kurt would've been traumatised if this happened to him. "Your _only_ son?"

"Put it down," Kurt said in a soft voice. "Put the gun down, Mr Smythe. Just…just-just-just—… _please_."

"Why should I listen to you?" Jean suddenly sounded out, and Sebastian was fluctuating between keeping his eyes half-open and falling asleep. "You're just like him! _A FAGGOT LIKE HIM!"_

 _"SEBASTIAN!"_ Nathalie shrieked. " _SEBASTIAN, TELL HIM! TELL HIM TO STOP!_ Tell him!"

Jean's hand was shaking, and Nathalie was sobbing so loudly that Kurt couldn't hear his heart pounding in his ears.

"Do it," Sebastian's weak and feeble voice sounded out. Blood was leaking out of his ears now too. "I _dare_ you."

 _"WHAT DO YOU MEAN DO IT?"_ Nathalie shrieked. _"YOU CAN'T MEAN THAT! YOU'RE SICK, SEBASTIAN! YOU LOST SO MUCH BLOOD! SO MUCH BLOOD… DON'T YOU DARE, JEAN! DON'T YOU DARE!"_

Kurt was sure that he did not just hear Sebastian Smythe dare his father to _kill_ him. He didn't know why Sebastian was playing with his life like this—just to what? Appear tough? Look like nothing was fazing him? He could _die_.

 _Maybe he didn't care if he dies_ , a voice in his head said. _Maybe he wants to._ That thought scared him more than anything.

"Do it," Sebastian repeated. He looked serious and genuine—big, green eyes that looked so innocent. Kurt did not think he would ever think Sebastian was _innocent_ in _anything_. "Come on… just _kill_ me. You want to. _I_ know you do."

Sebastian almost looked like he was going to cry. "You hate me," he said softly. " _Everybody_ hates me."

 _"DON'T… HURT… HIM!"_ Nathalie threw herself on top of Sebastian almost immediately.

Everything happened so fast. The gun went off and there ended up being a giant hole in the ceiling. Jean was so surprised he dropped his gun, and Sebastian on the floor. Sebastian was gawking at the gun with glassy-looking eyes. He didn't look real… Nathalie's cupcake-patterned dressing gown now had a decorative blood icing.

"Are you crazy? Do you want to die?" Nathalie told him off. "He could've actually _killed_ you, Sebastian!"

Sebastian was shaking. It was the most pitiful, saddest thing that he'd ever seen. Kurt didn't know if he could ever forget how it was like to see a shaking, bleeding Sebastian lying on the ground with his mother crying right beside him. And him, so _thin_ he looked like he was already dead, just staring at the wall with watery sea-green eyes.

"This is _YOUR FAULT!"_ Jean Smythe yelled out furiously. "If you just aborted him a _third_ fucking time…"

Nathalie looked horrified. "Sweetheart, he's lying. I would never have tried to…"

Sebastian was still shaking and staring into an endless void. Like it was staring back at him.

"You did," Sebastian said. His voice was so weak Kurt didn't know if he could hear him across the room. "It's okay," he lost so much blood he looked like a sheet of paper and he obviously wasn't thinking straight. _"It's okay."_

Before Kurt could think twice, Sebastian reached over and grabbed the gun off the floor.

Police sirens blared out, and Kurt felt like time just stood still. Sebastian—drowsy, drowsy, _drowsy_ Sebastian—just stared at the gun in his hand. The scariest thing was that he looked euphoric for a second.

"Son, give me the gun," Burt said, reaching over to try and grab the gun from Sebastian's weak grip.

"No," Sebastian said. He sounded so weak and hoarse. "I want it to stop, old man. I want it to _stop_." It actually surprised Kurt that Sebastian was still conscious, because he practically bathed the hallway red.

Burt didn't look like he had trouble taking the gun away with how weak Sebastian's hold was.

But it was the look that flashed into his eyes—the look of outmost betrayal that made Kurt feel worse. He moved over to Sebastian, taking off his blazer and trying to wrap a cold Sebastian in it. It scared him the fact that this six-foot-two guy just managed to disappear underneath his new blazer. Kurt didn't think he could ever wear it again.

"It's okay," never in Kurt's life did he think he would comfort Sebastian Smythe. "It's _okay_."

Kurt had his arms around Sebastian and it was the most sickening thing in the world. He didn't feel like he was holding onto a human being—not even a bony human being. It was exactly like Sebastian was just not _there_. Like he was already gone and disappeared into his arms. Like he was fading away in his very arms. Like sand from his fingers.

It seemed sort of crazy now, thinking that Sebastian was faking something that was so _real_. And obvious.

Sebastian was so out of it that he was holding onto Kurt's arm. His fleshy, normal human hand. Kurt didn't notice how concave Sebastian's cheeks were before, or the fact that he could practically see his heart beating in his chest.

Sebastian coughed. Was that blood? He closed his eyes a little, and every time he breathed, it felt like his last breath.

"Sebastian," Kurt grabbed his hand and try to prop Sebastian back up. Like sitting up straight changed something.

He stared straight into Kurt's eyes, Sebastian he laughed a little. "Yeah?" he said. "Yeah?" he was passing out.

Kurt could barely remember the rest of the evening. He watched Sebastian go from panting more than asthmatic Nick did after a run to his chest rising ever so often. Kurt suddenly felt self-conscious of the thick, suffocating band of his too-small boxers pressing against his junk, and the cold, slimy eggs he ate before he came here.

By the time that Sebastian was taken away, he was out cold. His skin felt rubbery and he didn't _look_ alive.

Kurt never rode in an ambulance before. He never went this long without checking his text messages either.

The first thing they did for Sebastian was wheel him into the operating room. Kurt, Burt and Sebastian's mom were all practically covered in blood from head to toe. They smelled like a butcher that was working overtime for Christmas fucking Eve. Honestly, Kurt wasn't sure if this was how _shock_ was supposed to feel like.

Instead of being a decent human being, Kurt used his time to invade Sebastian's privacy. Because he had his cell.

To his surprise, most of Sebastian's phone contents were notes that he took in class. Some of them were calorie counts of different menus from the Lima Bean. A few of them were selfies where Kurt just realised Sebastian caked on more make-up than Rachel had icing on her holiday gingerbread cookies. Sebastian's WhatsApp was almost depressingly empty.

The last time Sebastian talked to Blaine was three weeks ago: _Why are you so sad? Did they exile you from the Shire?_

Blaine didn't reply to that message. Kurt read Dave and his' messages. And the Warbler WhatsApp group.

To Kurt's lack of surprise, Sebastian did not send anyone a message saying: _my father might actually kill me tonight._

It kind of seemed surreal that they had the unofficial Warbler Facebook Group. The last thing that happened there was that Trent was complaining about Sebastian owning all the unavailable gay guys and that not everyone could join the skinny skyscraper club. _Skinny_. Kurt mulled it in his head. Sebastian was _not_ skinny. That would imply that Sebastian did not look like he was about to star in _The Walking Dead_ , along with his crazy haunted house and his abusive father whose mission in life was to make sure Sebastian lost all his blood volume in an hour.

 _He really thinks that he has dibs on every guy in Lima_ , Trent wrote. _Just because he probably sucked everyone's dicks._

 _Once he told me that my eyebrows remind him of his parents_ , a guy named Andrew said. _Because they're divorced too._

It seemed so wrong reading other people's messages about him. Because Kurt might have to cope with the fact that he spent _months_ making fun of someone that might actually not make it through the night.

 _Hey_ , Kurt wrote in the Unofficial Warbler WhatsApp Group. _Sebastian's dad nearly killed him tonight. And now, he's having surgeries… yes, MULTIPLE. I'm in the waiting room in Lima General. Can anyone get him some clothes?_

Kurt didn't know why he asked for fucking clothes. Sebastian didn't _need_ clothes. He needed to not die tonight.

But the Warblers all got him so much clothes that it looked like they were about to have a sale on extra-small sweaters. They bought blankets that could keep anyone that wasn't over a hundred-and-ten pounds warm. Blaine was holding Kurt's hand, but he just felt bad. Because nobody inside there was holding _Sebastian's_ hand. Not even when they pumped the anaesthesia in him. Kurt had seen fucking dogs get treated with more decorum and love.

Lena came too, and Kurt was surprised to see the slight bump into her belly. She looked so tired. And pregnant.

"How long has he been in there?" Blaine asked him after only a few minutes of waiting. Kurt felt like he'd been waiting forever. Like somehow, it just eluded him that there was a time where Kurt wouldn't have believed this.

 _If you didn't see this, you wouldn't have believed it_ , Kurt chided himself.

"Three hours," Kurt admitted, swallowing the lump in his throat. Life-saving stuff only happened in the first hour, right? So, what were they _DOING_ in there right now? Giving him a new kidney? Harvesting his organs?

Trent looked like he was in disbelief. "I can't believe I had a fight with him about the fact that he _liked_ Dave."

Kurt wondered if he should call Dave right now and let him know that Sebastian was in the operating theatre. " _I_ didn't even know that Sebastian even had a thing for Dave before you wrote it on the Warbler WhatsApp Group."

"Yeah," Trent shook his head. "The guy has been through enough. You know, nearly… um…killing himself."

"Sebastian _would've_ too if he didn't lose all that blood," Kurt couldn't believe he said that. Burt stayed quiet.

The whole room went silent too. They all stared at Sebastian's mom, or Burt, like they were waiting for them to say that it didn't happen. But it did. And Kurt needed to tell someone that Sebastian really might've done it too. He waited until it was only Finn, him and his mom in the room.

"Really?" Finn spoke up, his voice was soft and squeaky. "Sebastian would've… killed himself?"

"He was just tired," Nathalie blurted out. Kurt never had a day where he was so tired that when he came back home, all he wanted to do was commit suicide. Sebastian was _not_ just tired. Sebastian was _suicidal_. "Okay? He was tired."

"No, he wasn't tired," Burt said. "That kid wanted an out." Lena looked like she had a bad case of morning sickness.

It went quiet after that. They ate some of Sebastian's mom's cold pumpkin pie because they stayed there for so long.

Eight hours later, Sebastian was _still in there_. Eight hours more, exhausted surgeons weeded out of the room. Their scrubs were wrinkled, and they smelled like antiseptic and cold scalpels. The nurses could barely walk in a straight-line. Kurt's head pounded seeing Sebastian wheeled out, still so paper-thin that he looked translucent. Kurt hoped to God that his surgeons were very liberal with the amount of painkillers in Sebastian's system right now.

Kurt wished he could say that he got to talk to Sebastian that night. He wished he could've said a lot of things.

They wheeled Sebastian to the ICU. Kurt did not have to ask many questions about what that meant.

The doctors told them that Sebastian was going to breathe through tubes and have more wires in his body than a fucking robot. He was going to be sedated because if he wasn't, he was going to be in a lot of pain. He had so many injuries that Kurt stopped listening to them all. All because some guy in a Facebook group thought that it was funny to say that Sebastian looked like he ate air for breakfast. All because Kurt thought that it was his moral duty to inform people that Sebastian _lied_. Well, he obviously didn't—judging from his prominent spine and his sharp, jutting hipbones. Even his facial bones could probably be registered as fine fucking weaponry.

After Sebastian was wheeled away, the air felt thick in the room. Nobody said anything. What could they say?

"Hey," Dave Karofsky's voice pulled Kurt out of his thoughts. He just walked in. He was wearing sweatpants and was holding a bouquet of sad-looking wilted yellow roses for Sebastian's mom. "What's going on? What'd I miss?"


	33. Chapter 33

**Eat Your Words**

Chapter Thirty-Three

* * *

"The kid did _what?"_ Sebastian heard Burt Hummel ask the nurse. "Isn't that dangerous?"

He felt like his head was replaced by fucking Maxipads and Vagisil. Whenever he opened his eyes, all he saw were bright roses around his hospital room. When he got weaned off sedation, he spent the last few weeks doing physiotherapy because they were sure he would have trouble walking with two feet, let alone one.

He hadn't even used his chest muscles to breathe in a fucking _month_.

The Dalton principal apparently came to see him when he was hooked to a ventilator. Yesterday, he left really big flowers for his mom. Sebastian told him that if he died, he wanted even bigger ones for the funeral.

Dave got him flowers too. Yellow ones, that smelled like he fought them off from a fat skunk with marital problems.

What the fuck was _he_ going to do with these bouquets? Were they going to _magically_ heal Sebastian's bedsores?

"Kid, you can't do this," Burt said to Sebastian, when he was busy just staring at the wall. Sebastian also needed speech therapy because he had a tube down his throat for a month. But at least his deep-throating game was obviously seriously improved. "You _can't_ just tear out tubes just cause you don't like 'em."

 _Evidently, I CAN, old man,_ Sebastian got shifted into the paediatric ward a week ago. He might actually strangle the kid that he was sharing his fucking bed with. _I just did. That's why we're having this conversation… remember?_

"He wanted to take out _that_ tube because it's the one that's feeding him," Paul told Burt, because he didn't know that.

Yeah, Sebastian tried to rip out his nasogastric tube and ended up misplacing it into his lungs.

Burt cocked his eyebrow and picked up his arm like Sebastian was going to see the light of day and realise that he was really post-diet Jack Skellington now. " _I'm_ curious to where you _think_ you're going to lose weight from, kid."

"I'm trying hard to dump your ass, but it ain't working out," Sebastian said, snorting as he tried to ignore the fact that the smell of antiseptic was mixing in with the smell of the gigantic wedding bouquet that some guys from the Nude Erections sent to him. Right next to the soul-crushing teddy bear from the Warblers with _Get Well Soon_ written on it. Sebastian was so disappointed. When would the Warblers actually get a chance to tell him to _get stuffed?_

Since he got shifted to the ward, Sebastian got teddy bears _and_ roses delivered to him daily. He considering requesting gift items. He had sixty-nine items he wanted from the sex shop alone… _HA._

"You're getting discharged today, huh?" Paul placed his hand into his suit pocket. "I'm sure you're excited."

Sebastian was surprised he didn't pull out a Werther's Original to give it to him. _Good job! You managed to survive in the ICU, even though they had to transfuse so much B-negative in you that the nurses called you Vampbastian._

You know, he used to say that he wasn't a cynical person, but then his blood type told him to _B-negative?_

 _"Ecstatic,"_ Sebastian managed to wheeze out. The next time he was involved in a relationship that had a one-month blow-job, he'd try to make sure that the venue was more his style. The all-white was too virginal for him. "I'm just going to miss having dying, expensive flower arrangements that sent to me fucking _daily_. What do they think _I'm_ going to do with them exactly? Do they want to freshen up the room now that I can take my own shits?"

Sebastian couldn't wait to see Lady Gay. He must be jealous! Sebastian had _flowers_ delivered to him. How romantic!

"Some of them have nice cards," Burt said. "And your Warbler friends dedicated their first song of the season to you."

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Yeah, _everyone's_ wishing for my fast recovery," he mumbled coldly. "Do you know that now if someone's being nice to me, I wouldn't know if it's cause they actually _want_ to or cause they feel sorry for me?"

People didn't get how hard that was for Sebastian to cope with. They'd look at him and see that kid that couldn't keep down lunch. Oh, and his dad punched him in his non-existent stomach, so now, it was purple to go with his blackeye.

Speaking of humiliation, Sebastian's heart fluttered. "Is Dave okay?" he managed to wheeze out to Paul.

He had two things in his life he was proud of: his eyes, and his voice. Now, he sounded like he chain-fucking-smoked everything that looked like it could puff, and his pretty green eyes were glazed over like he was high. _Fucking great_.

"He's _fine_ ," Paul said, smoothing over his suit. "But he… is extremely confused about your no-visitor policy."

He was sure that Dave was way more verbal than that. Dave probably thought that Sebastian's brain cells died because he was breathing out of a ventilator—which could actually happen, according to his neurotic mom who managed to research _everything_ that could ever go wrong in the fucking ICU. When he was semi-conscious and being weaned off sedation, he had to endure his mom asking the docs if he was going to die from a blood infection. You know, infection—the thing that you needed a sky-high fever for, usually? That shivering, always cold Sebastian _never_ had?

"Kurt was thinking about it too," Burt said. "He thought that it was… silly. People _are_ worried about you."

Sebastian rolled his weed-influenced eyes. "The fucking five-foot tall knocked-up nurse has to _hold me_ when I walk."

Burt started laughing. Yeah, Sebastian would rather choke on a shiny dildo wrapped in a Gucci scarf than have people witness him being escorted by some forty-year-old pregnant chick that had more fucking stamina than him.

"It ain't funny, old man," Sebastian said, trying to ignore the wire that was supposed to be in his nose that was in his lungs—the nurse just went to get prepped to extract it. And probably put him on IV lard for refusing to eat a cereal bar. This was _after_ five pieces of Nutella toast. "It's bad enough that people _know_ I got a piss bag on the side of my bed."

"I'm sorry, kid," Burt suddenly blurted out. "About letting you go in alone. I should've known he would've—"

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "I _still_ want my stuff," he cut him off. "I'm going back to get my stuff."

"You spent a month in the ICU," Burt reminded him, like Sebastian just forgot. "And you still…—?"

"He's not there, right?" Sebastian said, pointing towards the magazines that were littered everywhere in the ward. "So _why_ can't I go into that fucking house? Do you think I'm going to be attacked by a broom?" it hurt to talk. Now, that he was yelling, he felt like he swallowed a bottle of Coke that was left in the sun for a week… and it had razors in it.

Burt Hummel didn't say anything. Paul nodded his head. "I can take you if you—" Paul was cut off.

" _I'll_ take him," Burt said stiffly. What? Did the old man got PTSD from seeing his dad nearly kill him?

Right now, Sebastian knew that the latest issue of a popular magazine included details of how his dad hit his own kid, who then went on to develop an eating disorder. He knew this because he had _reporters_ tried to sneak into his room.

Oh, about his no-visitor policy… Sebastian completely refused to see anyone when he was able to talk—you know, a few days after he got the tube out. When he was conscious and sort of out of it because his hospital made him a legal drug addict, Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson took the time to ask him _how he was feeling._ Every hour. When he was hooked to three-million wires on his arms, had to pee out of a bag, and had to rely on something to breathe _for_ him. They asked him how he was _feeling_. What did they expect? _I feel great! Wearing a fucking diaper is not at all humiliating!_

Sebastian was under so much Fentanyl that he couldn't even take a shit in his diaper. How did he _FEEL?_

Just before he got discharged, Sebastian got his stuff back. He got his old clothes that he used to be extremely loose—to the point where he had to stick a few pins in his jeans just to be able to wear them. But now, his clothes were finally fitting _right_ , but why didn't _he_ feel right now? Why could he be okay with his father beating him to a near fucking coma, but a pair of pants fitting him was sacrilegious and unholy? _Unholy_ , Sebastian mused, _said the gay guy!_

Sitting in the ward hopefully for the last time in a while… Sebastian pulled out his tired, scratched-up iPhone from the plastic bag they kept his stuff in. He ignored the hundreds of text messages and missed calls that he got—and that his iPhone needed to be fucking updated. The first thing Sebastian did was open the _Bash-Up Mash-Up_ Facebook page.

Their latest post was a few days after his emergency operation that saved his life that was so precious and gay (both meanings). He had a _lot_ of those. How many times could a person get a _life-saving_ operation anyway? Sebastian rolled his eyes. Could he get a trophy for it, now that the Nude Erections stole the Nationals trophy from him?

It was a newspaper clipping that his sister, Lena, uploaded onto the group.

Sebastian enlarged the clipping and tried to read it, even though his hands were shaking. It was her fucking confessional! Lena was talking about how she went to his show choir competitions, and that she heard what other people said about him, you know? Calling him out for being a sore loser… nobody…. _nothing_. So, she made a—

Sebastian put his phone down for a second, rubbing his temple. _SHE_ made the Facebook group. _SHE_ made his…

After biting down on his lip hard enough to draw blood (ha, if he had a nasogastric tube inside, he'd probably had dislodged it from pure rage), Sebastian skimmed through his sister talking about how she only started posting about other people first. The guy that she was hooking up with for a year was a show choir nut named Leo Clarington. He used to be part of some fancy show choir group when dinosaurs reigned. Lena made him an admin since she had better things to do with her time than stalk teenagers that went to high school. _Blah blah blah_ he mentioned that he thought that excluding her brother made her _SHOW CHOIR_ group looked bad. So, Clarington posted the picture of Sebastian with the boots that he _still_ couldn't find.

They fought about it, and they made up. She was about to fuck him too for the first time (a sleazy thirty-year-old guy that with questionable sexual experience). Sebastian _remembered_ her asking him for a razor. What he should've done was let the fucking asshole get stuck into Cunt Cave wonders instead of…

Apparently, the loser went to get bagels and just happened to catch Sebastian throwing his eggs in the—

 _What a fucking creep!_ Sebastian thought to himself. _Who takes a picture of your girlfriend's brother throwing out eggs when you're about to fucking sleep with his sister anyway? Sticks and stones may break your bones, but eggs, double whipped, excite me?_

Sebastian debated reading the rest of this bullshit. His cheeks were flushed red, and he was breathing like he'd sprinted a fucking marathon… which, by the way, he probably would never do again, because having seven knee surgeries by the time that you're fucking sixteen didn't bode well for Dalton's track and field group. Who now knew _why_ he had to have seven knee surgeries. Gross. He would have _supportive teachers_ … how fucking embarrassing!

Clearing his throat, Sebastian continued reading about this guy that he never even met. He guessed that his conservative mom might actually think that his sister got AIDS from sleeping with a guy that was a never-was.

Leo locked Lena out of the group. They got into more fights. Every time Lena didn't put out, Leo posted something about Sebastian from the stash of stuff he stole from her laptop, which by the way explained how he managed to post a picture of him that was so old that it was like unearthing a dinosaur fossil. Blaine and Kurt got involved, _blah blah blah_ kid kicked out of the house because his mom thought he had AIDS without testing him.

Wait, the whole world now knew his mom thought he had _AIDS?_ Sebastian thought with distaste.

Lena got into a fight with his mom, and then spent a week living with her old-guy boy toy, who continued to post mean things about her brother because she continued to not put out for him. Twenty-one-year-old girl cried and came back home because he sold her underwear on eBay as 'underwear from the daughter of Jean Smythe.' Gullible girl virgin with big tits decided to sleep with him if he stopped posting about Sebastian, but unfortunately, got pregnant with his demonspawn because their condom broke (like he needed a picture of his sister using a condom with a thirty-year-old creep!). She tried to abort it, but it didn't work (yeah, Sebastian heard _third time_ was the charm).

Lena was stuck with his baby and left him. He threatened her, and she didn't tell nobody (Smythe family trait).

Meanwhile, brother that got kicked out of the house ended up in the hospital because his father, who was not mentioned in the story thus far, was actually an abusive asshole for most of his life, and _"once tried to suffocate Sebastian because he didn't want to do his homework."_ Brother in ICU right now and had blood in his lungs. Level of family dysfunction? Well, despite being covered in blood and sinew, Sebastian still looked better than Caitlyn Jenner.

Sebastian tried to read the comments about how sad it was… but he could barely keep his head afloat.

The same people that laughed about the pizza grease were _defending_ him. They also told her that they wished her kid came out malformed—who the hell wished that for a baby anyway? What kind of asshole do you have to be to wish that someone's baby gets the heat of an argument that didn't even fucking involve you in the first place?

Was it _bad_ that he didn't hate her? Sebastian debated to himself. Was it bad that he actually thought, for the first time now that she wasn't pretending to be Princess Perfect, he actually _respected_ that she defaced herself like that?

He ignored every single text. His sister sent him a novel about all the bad stuff that she did, and that she had a job.

She bought him new clothes. She worked in retail. They were bigger than what he wore and didn't have holes in them.

They left the hospital in the afternoon, around two. It was a sunny day but the kind that had a breeze. Sebastian was trying to get to the car as quick as possible, because he wasn't used to walking. His leg was throbbing, and even though he never told the nurse, he didn't _like_ using his crutches. But like he'd ever use a wheelchair. That kid in the New Directions that literally couldn't walk? Yeah, he could use a wheelchair. Sebastian got two commuted, displaced fractures—hip, one of his leg bones—that were fixed with nails. And he was going to spend the next week in bed.

When Burt was driving him down to his dad's house, Sebastian got a call. He was avoiding his phone and its gazillion text messages and missed calls, but it was hard to ignore his mom calling three times in the span of ten minutes.

At the fourth call, Sebastian got irritated and picked up, "What the fuck do you want?" he hissed.

Yeah, he thought he was okay with Lena, especially know she was carrying a baby. He was not okay with his mom.

"Burt told me you're going to _your_ _father's house!"_ she sounded angry at him. She had no fucking right to be angry at him. "I thought it was crazy when you put that stupid visitor's policy—and social services wanted to agree with you because you just came out of the ICU! Did you know how much you scared me, Sebastian? But… but now, I find out that you're going back to the place where you had-had to… _how are you even walking?_ Sebastian, you—"

When she started sobbing, his head started pounding. What was _SHE_ crying about? He was sick of her.

Sebastian wished he could stab her with his crutches. _"SHUT UP, MOM!"_ he yelled. He felt like his throat just got ripped of its fucking cavity. "Listen, you can't tell _me_ what to do anymore! You let this guy torture me for most of my fucking life, and _now_ , you're my loving, concerned mother? _I_ ain't buying whatever it is you're fucking selling."

"Sebastian, you are such a child!" she was getting on his nerves.

"I'm not a fucking child," Sebastian replied back, feeling like he ate nails. "You fucking took that away from me!"

Before he could hear her argument, he ended the phone call and then shifted in his seat.

" _Well?"_ Sebastian asked Burt, who liked to tell him how his mom was fragile. "You got something to say?"

Burt shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Do you want juice?" he asked. "That _sounds_ like it hurts."

"Yes, please," Sebastian cleared his throat, which was a bad idea. It sounded almost as bad as it felt.

When Burt got him apple juice, he just sipped it. Yeah, look at him—taking in more calories than his million-calorie meal plan! Sebastian was fuming, and he suddenly wished he was back in the hospital where all he had to do all day long was try and see how offensive he could be to the nurse. His throat was killing him, and he wished he shot himself when he had the chance. He hated eating twenty-four-fucking-seven. He hated his body, and he hated _everything_.

Sebastian was trying to ignore the fact that he could barely sit down without getting heartburn from eating like a pig.

When they stopped at a red light, Burt grabbed Sebastian's burned, scarred arm. His sleeves were rolled up, because he was starting to actually feel some heat now that he was eating pretty much all day long. "She knows about this?"

"Knows about it? She watched it happen," Sebastian blurted out. "And it wasn't just once, old man. It wasn't just _once!_ And then… then she throws me out of my house because she found out I was gay! She told me to live with _HIM_."

Sebastian didn't know how you could hate your kid so much you'd let them go back to the guy that used to torture them, even if you believed that they changed. "I can't let her think she got a right to act like my mom anymore, okay?"

Burt didn't say anything. By the time that the stoplight turned green, he said, "I need to pump gas before we go."

By then, his mom ruined his mood. _Surprise_. "Whatever," Sebastian said stoically. "I don't want my stuff anymore."


	34. Chapter 34

_i'm sitting here wondering if there's any way i can finish this fanfiction before the New Years but i don't think it's possible considering how much i'll have to do... not unless i update every day. sometimes twice even! we'll see how it goes... i'm not even sure how many chapters this fanfiction requires._

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Thirty-Four

* * *

.

Kurt Hummel didn't believe, in a million years, that Sebastian Smythe was living in his basement.

He didn't know if he was overstepping his boundaries by bringing an extra-large double pepperoni and cheese pizza for him to share with a guy that definitely had an eating disorder, who he last saw was being fed by a _tube_.

Did being fed from the tube meant that you got intolerances after? Like a dairy, sugar or _delicious food_ intolerance?

 _Is my gluten intolerance not enough for you?_ Kurt imagined Sebastian saying. He didn't know what his intestines was doing with bread that made that noxious smell come out of the toilet. But it could probably disarm a nation. _Well, you always said I was full of shit, Hummel. So, why are you so surprised that my bowels work?_

Kurt hadn't even seen Sebastian since he shifted from ICU to ward. Apparently, he didn't want to see anyone.

 _Would you?_ Kurt thought. _If someone decided to air your dirty laundry?_ Talking about laundry made Dave blush.

He heard a knock on the door, and Kurt went to answer it. His stomach twisted a little when he saw the guy standing there—so handsome that Kurt's gay genes just became reactivated and reconfirmed his sexual orientation. Mr Beautiful looked about seventeen or eighteen. He was dressed in a trendy jean jacket that managed to show off his sculpted physique. His teeth that were so white and pure that they were _sparkling_. Mr Beautiful then stuck out his hand to shake Kurt's hand—which he was suddenly aware was not as moisturised as he would liked it to have been.

When Mr Beautiful opened his mouth, Kurt imagined him saying: _Is this the place for the photoshoot? Would you like to buy some samples of skin-care products that I definitely use and am not endorsed to say that I do? Can I use your bathroom?_

Instead, Mr Beautiful said, "Does Sebastian Smythe live here?"

The colour disappeared from Kurt's face, because he did not expect this untainted, diamond-like human being to know the guy that thought that it was normal to drink five overpriced coffees a day just to function.

In all honestly, Kurt didn't know _where_ Sebastian managed to find this piece of treasure. He also didn't know why he didn't flaunt him to all the other gay guys, who would undoubtedly pay tens and tens of dollars to know how he managed to score _that_. And then Sebastian would be able to buy pants that weren't from a thrift store.

He smoothed over his jean-jacket. Right. Because Sebastian totally wasn't sitting downstairs in _wrinkled sweatpants_.

 _"Oh!"_ Kurt hoped that didn't sound like he just had an orgasm. "Sebastian! Yes… he currently lives here."

"Um…" Mr Beautiful started blushing, and he started to look even _more_ perfect and beautiful. "Can I come in?"

 _That's what he said when we slept with each other_ , Kurt's Sebastian voice said in his head. Kurt's semi-boner just suddenly deflated, thinking of Sebastian in bed with anyone. When fierce images of Sebastian humping a pillow for practice came to mind, Kurt was feeling nauseated. Ha. _So, you think sexual things about me, Lady Hips?_

"Are you gay? What's your name?" Kurt blurted out as he led Nathan downstairs. "Did you date Sebastian? Are you single?"

"Yes. My name is Nathan Barnes." Nathan replied. "No, he asked me out. I said no. Yes, but…then _I_ asked him out, but he said no."

He didn't know it was possible to say no to Nate. Unless Sebastian was really straight all this time. "Really?"

Nate slowly nodded his head. "Yeah," his voice was like honey. "He used to be the captain of the lacrosse team. The coach told us that even if Sebastian gets better, he doesn't think he can play lacrosse now that the whole world knows he had seven knee surgeries. I mean—we got letters saying he had problems in his knees, but _seven surgeries?_ Christ."

Kurt held onto his as he walked down the basement with Nate to see Sebastian for the first time in a couple of months.

"We used to tell him we couldn't tell the difference between him _or_ the stick we used for the ball," Nate explained.

Even though Kurt stayed silent, the most handsome guy that Kurt ever saw in his life kept on talking.

"We also used to swap his sugar-free Gatorade for the full sugar kind in practice when he was getting skinnier—which I didn't think it was possible. Sebastian's a pretty thin guy naturally, you know? Well, not _naturally_ …" Nate's cheeks went red. So, he'd been following the _BUMU_ Facebook Group gossip too… well, where their captain was concerned anyway. "We did try to talk to him about it, you know? Like after that Karofsky kid tried to kill himself, I think he felt _guilty_ about it… because we all used to go out to eat as a group, but he stopped eating as much. And then we dropped it because every time we tried to tell him he was a bag of bones, he'd bite off someone's head."

Kurt paused by the door to the basement and hoped that their voices didn't echo. They didn't open the door yet.

Nate shook his head. "Can you believe his sister let some guy write that stuff about him? And there was this other guy—Kurt _something_ —he posted pictures of him eating junk," he told Kurt. "It was the meanest fucking thing ever. Did you read those comments? They were so fucking brutal! He's a sixteen-year-old kid! People told him that he should puke to maintain his girlish figure—and _then_ they're surprised that he got an eating disorder after that? This was _after_ Sebastian did that Warbler benefit thing for that gay kid that tried to kill himself! And what kind of guy is perfectly okay with posting pictures of a guy half-naked on the internet _without_ his permission anyway?"

"I don't know," Kurt said in a weak voice. Mr Beautiful over here was making him feel pretty bad about himself.

Nate looked like he was in disbelief. "I think that people see that it's hard to get a rise out of Sebastian, so they think that they can just say whatever they want, you know? But it's _not_ okay," he said. Kurt wondered how Nate would feel if he knew that Sebastian literally tried to kill himself on that night that he was admitted to the ICU. "Dalton made a huge orientation about it today—about the Facebook group and Sebastian and-and… I think they'll probably give him free tuition maybe? I don't know. His grandma's pretty rich and she pays for his tuition, you know?"

Kurt opened his mouth to say something against that, but he couldn't. _How do you know all this stuff about him?_

Nate reached into his backpack, and then produced a bouquet of flowers that somehow survived the journey.

"He hates flowers," Nate said. "I don't know why I got him these," he admitted. "Are they nice?"

They were the prettiest flowers that Kurt had ever seen. They looked like they belonged in a wedding.

Sebastian had only been home for two hours and Kurt just wanted to come prepared with movies, pizza and—Sebastian's totally beautiful gay guy friend that lived in a barn? Or did he say his last name was Barn? All Kurt felt now was guilty. He hadn't felt like a good person lately, and Nate telling Kurt this stuff made him feel worse.

Nate opened the door to the basement. "Hey," he walked into the room. "I bought you these."

Sebastian was currently lying on a mattress, scrolling through Instagram. Kurt could vaguely see that Sebastian was gawking at a picture of Rachel in a bikini and was writing some colourful comment about her triangular nipples.

Sebastian made a face of disgust but accepted them. "Gross," he said. "Why doesn't _anyone_ get me coffee?"

"The last thing _you_ need is coffee, Smythe!" Nate smirking, sitting down beside Sebastian. The scary thing was that Kurt didn't notice that Sebastian was very attractive until Nate sat next to him. "Did you know that the first time we played a game, we lost it because he just drank so much coffee during that he ended up _pissing himself?"_

Sebastian playfully pushed Nate to the mattress. "At least _I_ don't need twenty minutes to take a piss."

"Do you know how big his nipples are?" Nate told Kurt. "He might actually be able to breastfeed."

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "That's nice," he said, completely unfazed. What were big nipples anyway? "Did your mama not feed your any of her pillow milk? Is _that_ why you're so obsessed with the size of my nipples?"

" _HA_. How are _you_ so obsessed with what my mother fed me when I was a kid?" Nate replied back. "Loser."

"Manbaby," Sebastian rolled his eyes. "I was wondering what you ate to manage to get an outie for your dick slit."

Kurt didn't join. "Um…" he went redder than Sebastian's mom's cherry pie. "Should I leave you two alone?"

"Why?" Sebastian laughed, like Kurt said something about pink elephants having an orgy.

"Um… yeah," Nate fumbled. Seeing someone this pretty have a crush on Sebastian and Sebastian being absolutely _blind_ to actually notice it was actually shocking. He thought that of all people that could actually tell when someone was into them, it would be Sebastian fucking Conceited-Face Smythe. "Uh… no reason."

Sebastian was holding a hand on his sharp knee. "What is Dalton saying about me?" he asked.

"Um…" Nate didn't look like he wanted to answer that. "Some good stuff, and some… really bad stuff."

 _Really bad stuff?_ Kurt honestly didn't know what kind of heartless bastard was going to say bad stuff about Sebastian after his own sister admitted that his father tried to asphyxiate him when he was just a kid. "What kind of bad stuff?"

"Like, uh, people saying that you had it coming," Nate looked sick. "And that he didn't hit hard enough."

Sebastian nodded his head. It actually made him wonder what Sebastian felt like, hearing this after he just got out of the fucking hospital. It had only been two hours since he was discharged from the hospital! It reminded him of the people that sent text messages to Dave when he was in the hospital saying _better luck next time_.

"Most people don't believe that," Nate suddenly said, his voice was very soft. "In class, everyone wanted to see you, but well… I tried to convince everyone that maybe you'd be better off seeing someone you already know."

Sebastian slowly nodded his head. "Is Trent Dixon still going out with Dave Karofsky?" he suddenly mentioned.

Nate looked like he didn't expect that question. Kurt didn't either. "Yeah?" Nate replied. "They're cute together."

"Two fat guys with heights at the end of the fucking spectrum," Sebastian hissed. Kurt would've thought that he was an asshole for calling Trent and Dave fat, if not for the fact that he could hear how jealous he was. "They ain't cute."

Nate could too. "You like Dave Karofsky?" he looked disappointed. "Oh," he said. "That's nice."

"I don't like Dave Karofsky," Sebastian said, and it was about as convincing as him standing up and belting out that he was actually a lesbian all this time. "Can't a gay guy just think that two other guys aren't suited for each other without someone telling him that he wants to hump one of said guys?"

"Nope," Nate smirked. " _Especially_ not you, Cap." Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Dave is a nice guy."

Sebastian's face suddenly changed from one emotion to another. Kurt had never seen Sebastian have that face before—that arrogant look melted off his face, and his lips pursed into a thin line. "Do you ever think about what would've happened if he actually…?" Sebastian suddenly asked, clearing his throat.

Nate nodded his head. "Dave?" his voice was soft. "Yeah," he placed a hand on Sebastian's arm.

"I think about Dave all the time," Sebastian admitted, and Kurt's chest was pounding so hard into his chest, thinking about Sebastian holding that gun in his head. Telling Burt that _he_ _just wanted it to stop_. "If he died, I…" he paused.

Nate didn't say anything. Kurt found it weird that Dave didn't think about his own suicide nearly as much as other people did. Kurt knew Dave thought about it sometimes, but he felt like other people thought about it all the time.

"People think like that about you too," Nate finally said. Kurt wanted to say the same thing, but he felt like he could barely speak because of this huge lump that was living in his super-dry throat.

Sebastian didn't say anything, but Nate moved in closer. Sebastian didn't inch closer, but he didn't move away.

"Sebastian, you scared _everyone_ ," Nate said, looking like he was close to crying. "Not just with the hospital—but you know, with everything that was going on. We couldn't fucking say anything because every time someone said something you didn't like, you turned into a fucking monster but… if _you_ died—"

"Well, _I_ ain't dead," Sebastian pushed Nate away, with an irritated look to his face. "So, stop it, okay?"

Nate looked surprised, but he slowly nodded his head. "Okay," he said in a whisper. "Okay."

He shifted uncomfortably, and then opened up his backpack. There were tears still streaming from his eyes. "Um… um…" Nate pulled out a pile of papers from his bag, that looked squished and tired. "I… I got your homework."

"Okay," Sebastian said with a whisper. "Fine." He practically tore the papers away from Nate.

"Please, just… you know," Nate swayed from side to side. "Call me, okay? If you need someone."

"Yeah," Sebastian replied stoically, looking more interested in the fact that he had so much History homework that Sebastian Smythe would actually end up being history if he didn't do any of it when he went back to Dalton. "Sure."

When Nate left the house, Kurt stayed in the basement, seeing Sebastian organise his homework mountain into piles.

"He _likes_ you," Kurt finally said, to Sebastian—about Nate anyway. "And he's gorgeous."

"No thanks," he said. Sebastian didn't even look the least bit interested in dating the guy that literally made every other guy in the world look boring. "I don't see Nathan Barnes like that… wait, what the fuck do you mean he's gorgeous? No, princess, _I'm_ gorgeous. He's just substandard." The sad thing was now that Kurt wasn't completely annoyed by him, he could see that Sebastian was himself a very attractive guy. And it was making him blush.

"You think about Dave?" Kurt said, and he wished he thought a little before he said it.

Sebastian stiffened a little, and then slowly nodded his head. "Yeah," he said in a whisper.

Kurt just stared at him. "Sebastian," he cocked his head to one side. His throat was dry, and he forgot why he came here, you know? All he could think about was the way that he was acting around Nate, when Nate told him that other people felt the way that Sebastian felt about Dave—that hollow, harrowing feeling that he did nothing when this guy, that he didn't know that he liked so much, just… _hurt himself_. "Are you… are you suicidal?"

Sebastian didn't say anything. He just looked at him, with vacant eyes.

Kurt waited for Sebastian to tell him that he definitely wasn't, but he didn't.

"We can help you," Kurt took his silence as an admission. "If you are. There are people that you can talk to—well, if you're not willing to talk to Dave's dad about it… which I can understand, it's an extremely—"

"Come here," Sebastian patted to the mattress against him.

Kurt gulped. His pizza was cold, and he didn't want his clothes to get wrinkled. He was wearing shoes indoors. He slowly sunk down to the ground, and then laid down beside Sebastian Smythe. The ceiling was white, freshly painted. In fact, the whole basement smelled like paint fumes, and had that old mattress smell.

With Kurt lying there, Sebastian reached over and took Kurt's cold, clammy hand.

"Sebastian," Kurt didn't know if he should try his chances again. He didn't know why he kept his voice so soft, when the only way that anyone else was going to hear them was if the ceiling suddenly blew up. "Are you…—?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Hummel," Sebastian yawned. "It's _freezing_ down here, and I wanted your body heat for a nap."

Kurt nodded his head. "Why do you like Dave?" he said, watching Sebastian try to nod off to sleep.

Sebastian chuckled, and curled up against Kurt, burying his head into his thick sweater. Kurt didn't have any spare blankets upstairs, and it really was freezing here now that Sebastian mentioned it. " _I_ don't like Dave," Sebastian said.


	35. Chapter 35

_never in my life would i have ever guessed that people would want Sebastian to be with an OC i created off the spot! wow. i love how brutal **Casey** was about Dave not giving two fucks about him. it is SO true. there **is** actually a chapter where Nate complains to Kurt about how he thinks that Dave is basically given a pass because of the suicide attempt because he's still a douche (controversial topic, but hey. this whole fanfiction can get super crazy.)  
_

 _i could actually make them end up together if you're all interested in a Sebastian/Nate ship. i've written a lot since break (that i haven't edited...) and you're right. he is probably the only good character that i've had Sebastian interact with over the course of this 30+ chapters._

 _happy holidays, guys. to put you all in a celebratory mood, i'm going to post **three** chapters. yes, you read that right. **THREE**. that's like a month's worth of updates for me.  
_

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Thirty-Five

* * *

Trent was feeling uncomfortable sitting with the guy that—you know… liked the guy that he was dating _plus_ hated his guts probably because he got him kicked out of his Dalton dorms at the days where he was a major asshole.

They were sitting in matching dark hoodies and jeans. Trent did _not_ need to hear who wore it better—the promiscuous live skeleton with a French passport, or the shy, fat kid that cried because he failed a test.

"So…" Trent would maybe rather, you know, eat a shit-covered stone than talk to Sebastian. "Um… nice hair."

Trent wished he didn't say that, because Sebastian's hair looked almost like Blaine's... _if Blaine's hair exploded._

Sebastian glared at him from his seat. He was well-behaved thus far. It had been three minutes and he didn't tell Trent that he was literally how he'd imagine heartburn if it was a human being, or that he was sorry that his mom didn't feed him enough fat sack milk and now, he was permanently vertically challenged—… _and_ uh _,_ horizontally challenged... Trent thought, looking at his protruding stomach. He bet that was the reason that vectors cried themselves to sleep.

Speaking of sleep, Sebastian looked like he hadn't slept since he came out of the ICU. His eyes were swollen, and red. Trent wondered if this had anything to do with the fact that he looked like he needed painkillers just to take a shit.

"Uh…" Trent tried to think of something to talk to Sebastian about other than show choir. "The weather's good."

Sebastian looked like a man-eating lion that had to be restrained at the zoo. Maybe he didn't like the weather since he was perpetually cold. "Seriously? You're asking me about the _fucking weather?"_

"Uh…" Trent felt as graceful as an elephant with a broken foot. "How about _you_ ask the questions?"

 _So, when are you going to go through puberty?_ Trent imagined Sebastian saying.

"Sure," Sebastian replied. Instead of asking something normal that would lead to them bonding over normal things like their mutual distaste for the weather today, Sebastian decided to say, "Did you and Dave ever fuck?"

 _"Um… uh…"_ Trent felt like emotionless, blank-faced Sebastian might as well be talking in Vulcan. _"No!"_

Sebastian raised his eyebrow. "Are you _sure?"_ how much of a virgin did this guy think he was?

Trent was pretty sure he'd remember if someone slept with him. Jesus. "Yeah… I'm sure!" he said in annoyance.

He was in complete disbelief. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" Trent suddenly exploded. He was _SO_ embarrassed. "Who just _randomly_ asks another guy if he's slept with his boyfriend? You barely know me! _Are you fucking crazy?"_

"Touchy much?" Sebastian snorted, and then crossed his arms over his chest. "You a virgin, princess? Saving it?"

The way Sebastian said _saving it?_ made Trent feel like he was talking about a cheese soufflé. Except Sebastian might actually contemplate the cheese soufflé longer. He wouldn't want to waste his calories after all!

Trent couldn't believe this guy. _"Yes, I am,"_ he wanted to sound proud, but instead, he sounded pathetic.

Sebastian looked like he was analysing him. In his head, he was probably assessing what level of _sad and desperation_ he was. He was probably also trying to mentally figure out if Trent was going to lose his virginity before he hit forty.

"How did you lose your virginity?" Trent was so pissed at Sebastian he just wanted to ask something intrusive too.

Sebastian cocked his head. _"The normal way,"_ he said. "By having sex." He was laughing. Trent wanted to stab him.

 _"Ha ha,"_ Trent said sardonically. "Did you just auction it to the highest bidder to feed your Lima Bean addiction?"

Sebastian seemed impressed with how fast Trent was unravelling. "Nope," he popped his _p_.

Trent carefully worded his question. "Well, then what were the circumstances that led you to losing your virginity?"

"I thought that maybe I should lose it and I did," Sebastian was so annoying that it was actually killing Trent.

Trent didn't even want to know the story. He just wanted to ask a question that Sebastian wouldn't reply with a wise-crack afterwards. "How did it feel losing it?" the minute that he said it, Trent mentally realised he fucked up. Now, Sebastian was going to tell him that it felt like he was re-enacting a passionate scene from _The Notebook_.

Sebastian's shoulders slumped. "It _hurt_." Trent didn't expect to hear him say _that_.

Trent's stomach enlisted in their own aerobics class. "Hurt how?" he asked, but Sebastian didn't answer him.

He reached over and grabbed Sebastian's hand a little and squeezed it. "He hurt you?" Trent finally asked.

Sebastian didn't say anything else. What did Trent really expect though? That he'd pour out the whole story in their ten-minute car ride to the clinic? When they got to Paul's office, Sebastian was three minutes late to his appointment.

Trent never really took in the whole scene before. The clinic was a small room, that sort of smelled like a mixture between Sebastian's weed (he totally knew Sebastian smoked weed at least three times in their dorm room before) and old, stale garlic bread. Sebastian pulled out a small little box from his exhausted backpack. It was bundled up in red gift wrapping, which was peeling off. The ribbons were the same colour as that discharge in STD course that Dalton gave all its students. Trent felt his stomach tighten. So, the gift was the colour of blood _and_ vaginal discharge.

Paul looked surprised—and unnerved—by the gift but took it. "Thank you." He cleared his throat. "Take a seat."

Trent sat down on the chair, which didn't look very sturdy. He heard it squeak underneath him. He wondered what Sebastian could've gotten Paul Karofsky—a geriatric dildo or his results from the STD clinic was his best guess.

Paul put the box aside on his desk, and Sebastian stood there, staring straight at the guy. "Aren't you gonna open it?"

Paul stiffened momentarily, but then opened the box. Trent felt bad for thinking that stuff about Sebastian.

Beyond the walls of period-blood red and ribbons of thick sort-of-gonorrhoea-sort-of-Chlamydia-coloured discharge, Paul Karofsky produced a shiny, copper coffee mug. "Oh," Paul looked surprised. "This is very…"

"Don't think it break so easy," Sebastian said softly, before he sat down on the chair. "Like it, doc?"

"Thank you," Paul said, but he looked like he didn't know if he should accept a gift from the guy that not only had a crush on his son but also told him off for being a shrink that didn't know his own kid wanted to die.

Trent tossed a look towards Sebastian—trying to see past the hard shiny, sea-green eyes and his cold demeanour. There was a _decent person_ inside of there somewhere; probably more decent than most people that Trent knew. And he knew a lot of good people. Trent just didn't know how to make it come out of Sebastian's proverbial closet!

 _How many times do I have to get out of the closet?_ Sebastian's voice echoed in Trent's head. _Seriously?_

Sebastian also pulled out a neat-looking book. Different colour pieces of papers were sticking out of the book. He offered it to Paul, who relaxed now. In fact, Paul had the look their Chemistry teacher did when he knew you were smart, but you did something that was _so_ smart that he was impressed by you.

Sebastian didn't acknowledge The Look whatsoever. Paul opened the book and looked through it.

Trent wondered if all the appointments were going to be like this. With Sebastian barely speaking and giving the guy a bunch of papers. And the doc just deciding to conclude that Sebastian was a super special snowflake patient that required immediate love and attention based on the content of these doctored notes. Trent knew that wasn't fair that he thought this—Sebastian's dad used to _hit_ him, but he couldn't help being frustrated.

Why did Sebastian want him there _anyway?_ If he was just going to give his doc a book? For what… moral support?

Did Sebastian Smythe even _need_ moral support? Trent was pretty sure he shat stones, and probably didn't mind if a guy with a dick the size of a fucking cantaloupe tried to fuck him. He probably lost the sensation in his ass now.

" _I'm_ going to go outside," Trent finally said, before Paul spoke. "Okay?" he looked over at Sebastian.

Trent's heart sank into his chest with the look that Sebastian gave him. It _looked_ like betrayal.

He knew he played a bad move, but he didn't know how to fix it. He just found it a little weird. Sebastian and him weren't even really friends, you know? Sure, Trent drove him here since… well, Sebastian couldn't _drive_ when his right leg was shattered in more pieces than a chocolate egg sandwiched into his bag.

Sebastian's one-hour appointment only really took half an hour.

By the time that Sebastian left, he dumped his backpack near Trent and stormed off to the bathroom that probably was violating a million health codes. Trent watched Paul Karofsky walk out of the clinic. He looked _worried_.

His model student suddenly turned rouge and Paul didn't know why.

"Can you give him this?" Paul told Trent. But he bet that Paul wanted to tell him off for leaving Sebastian in the room alone, you know? Trent's head was already screaming at him: _yeah, you left Sebastian in the start of his appointment because you just didn't get why he needed you there. And his psychiatrist thought you were a fucking jerk_. "It's my personal phone number. I told him to call me if he needed anything but he—… declined." And cursed like a banshee before probably.

Paul didn't like him. And Trent was _dating_ Dave. That wasn't… good. At all.

Trent took the phone number from Paul and nodded his head. He slipped the number in Sebastian's backpack, thinking that he could tell him about it when Sebastian cooled off. "How did it go?"

Paul's face was sombre. "That's not for me to say," he decided to say. "You should ask _your friend_."

The way he said your friend made Trent's spine shivered. If you didn't see how he talked to Sebastian before, you probably wouldn't notice anything. But Paul definitely did not like Trent. He probably thought that he was a very bad friend for leaving Sebastian alone with his psychiatrist—didn't normal people want to be alone with their shrink?

"Did I do something wrong?" Trent said. And he definitely didn't mean to say _anything_. "I mean… uh…"

Paul didn't say anything, but Trent was sure that he was mentally thinking that he was a bad friend. And Trent didn't think he was a bad friend—a bad friend wouldn't drive Sebastian to his appointment, right?

When Sebastian left the bathroom, he still looked irritated. In the drive back, he saw Sebastian flipping through a book and making notes of something in a moving vehicle. Trent didn't get how someone that didn't eat didn't get nauseous doing that, but hey, he kept it to himself. Trent wondered if he should say anything to Sebastian.

Half-way to Kurt's house, Trent cleared his throat. "Hey," he said softly. "I'm sorry about what happened."

Sebastian snorted, like Trent just made a joke. "About _what?"_ he hissed coldly, and then crossed his arms over his chest. Trent was sure that he missed the plot here. He was sure that he…

"Um…" Trent felt like he was in an exam and he was failing very badly. "Uh…"

Sebastian stuffed his book into his rucksack, and stared at the road with vacant, steely eyes. " _You_ don't got to drive me after today," he decided. He stuffed his book back into his tattered Nike backpack.

"Why? Because I _dared_ to leave your appointment?" Trent failed. And fell flat on his face. He knew it the second that he said it that it was like he was trying to attract a fucking flying giant wasp in with honey. And he got stung and died. "It's just… it's weird that you give your shrink notebooks to read? I don't know. It's… I'm pretty sure you only do because you have people tag along. And if you didn't want people to know what's the problem, then why do you ask people to come? I just… it's just that I don't get it. I didn't feel comfortable there so, _uh_ —"

Sebastian looked pissed. "It's my fucking food diary," he explained. Oh. That was… _oh_. "What the fuck did you expect me to do? Memorise what I've put into my fucking mouth every single day of the week?"

"I didn't know it was your food diary," Trent said. That made a lot of sense. Karofsky didn't think he'd keep one. Probably not one so organised that it had its own key features page and a colour decoder. "Uh…"

He saw Sebastian snort. Trent wondered why Sebastian was just a pig. All he _ever_ did was make that sound.

Sebastian's face was hard. "Even if I wrote my fucking feelings in my super gay diary, what's it to _you?"_

Trent wanted to open his mouth to argue against that, but he couldn't. Because what? He was so nosy that he actually wanted to know all the details of Sebastian's life—that he totally didn't deserve to know after that ridiculous appointment? Trent couldn't explain it, but there was just something about Sebastian that had been rubbing him the wrong way in forever. Trent didn't get how he could… deal with Sebastian.

"It's just not what I expected," Trent finally said. "I… I didn't mean for this to be weird. But I feel like every time someone does something you don't expect them to, you lash out. You try to get into arguments with people. I just—"

"You don't get it?" Sebastian asked. "Yeah, well, I don't get how _I'm_ the asshole."

Trent cleared his throat. "Well, you—"

"Did you expect me to pour my heart out to the shrink and then afterwards, _we can bond?"_ Sebastian laughed. Trent was red in the face, because that was totally what he expected. He thought he might actually see a sign of Sebastian that didn't make his blood boil. Thus far, that didn't happen yet. "Yeah, you drive me to my appointment and tell me you're sorry for—whatever it is you're sorry for I don't even fucking know—and then we're cool, so when I'm with my shrink, you expect that I'll just let you know the most intimate fucking shit about me?"

Sebastian cleared his throat. "It's like the equivalent getting naked for a guy at a party when you're fucking fourteen."

Trent's honey-brown eyes were on the road. "You'd know _all_ about that, wouldn't you?" he finally said. "You practically give it to anything that has a viable cock. I fucking bet you'd do anything with a pulse."

"Almost," Sebastian was colder than an ice-cream cone in January. " _I_ have standards. That's why I never hit on you."

Trent didn't want to admit it but that hurt. "What's wrong with you?" he didn't get how anyone could be like this.

Sebastian practically sprinted with his crutches back into the Hummel household.

Kurt opened the door and Sebastian pushed him aside to go into the house. Kurt looked shocked—but then softened when he saw Trent emerging by the door. Kurt did not mention the fact that they practically had the same clothes today. Trent wanted to burn his favourite jeans, and then maybe, you know, pretend this never happened. Ever.

Trent told Kurt everything—from that thing that Sebastian said about losing his virginity hurting to the fact that Sebastian told him that he had standards and that was why he never hit on him—and Kurt didn't say anything.

"I'm pretty sure that once his mood is a little ruined, he fucking… I don't know—maybe he was going to have a good appointment until I said I'm going to go?" Trent didn't get that. "But then _he_ had a fucking temper tantrum. Because mentally, he's like three years old. He's obsessed with playing mind games I'm pretty sure."

Kurt stared at Trent with a vacant expression. "It doesn't matter what game he's playing," he finally said.

"Are you serious?" Trent finally said. "He tried to—"

Trent didn't get when Kurt was on Sebastian's team. Cause he was the guy that told Kurt that he probably had a wedgie from all the thongs that he'd been trying to push past those pear-hips. Trent was pretty sure if he vocalised this, Kurt would remind him that to Sebastian, he probably thought most models looked like they needed bariatric surgery.

"He came from the hospital _two days ago_ ," Kurt reminded him. "He could've _DIED!_ How… could you forget this?"

"I—" Trent was stammering for words. "I just… I—"

Kurt shook his head. "It really doesn't matter what he tried to do! It doesn't matter what he said! _He could've died, Trent…"_ he repeated. "I… were we _always_ like this? Because-because this is the most terrible thing in the world. When a guy nearly kills himself and you call it a fucking temper tantrum!"

"I…" Trent was still stammering. "Kurt… I—I just…"

Kurt looked broken-hearted. "Can you please leave my house?"

Trent's heart sank into his chest. _"Sebastian tried to…?"_ he said in a whisper.

"His father nearly battered him to death every day of his life since he was a little kid," Kurt tried to remind Trent. But Trent was disgusted at himself that he needed reminding. He was the guy that volunteered at soup kitchens every week and read stories to kids with cancer in the hospital all the time. He should know better. "Is it really _that_ surprising?"

Trent slowly nodded his head. "You're right," he finally said. "I just… I didn't think…" he was shocked.

"That he had emotions?" Kurt raised an eyebrow. "I made a similar mistake. But Trent, he's just a _kid_ that has been through a lot this year. And he probably feels _alone_. Living with people that he _hates!_ "

Trent felt tears filling in his eyes. What was he crying for anyway? "Oh," he cleared his throat. "It's just that… yeah."

He remembered how scared it was when Dave tried to—… and Sebastian tried to too? He was _thinking_ about it? Trent didn't know that. He guessed that it shouldn't matter if he didn't know that anyway. He did know that Sebastian had an eating disorder _and_ had been getting beat up for forever. He bet that Sebastian felt like it didn't matter how often he got clocked to the face. He probably felt like nobody cared about him. Which was a _really_ sad thought.

"Thanks," Trent said to Kurt. He said his goodbyes and then went down to the basement to see Sebastian.

When Trent got down there, he took a deep breath. "Sebastian, I'm sorry. I just—" he said immediately when he opened the door, but then he found himself standing there, shocked. Sebastian was standing with his crutches, shirtless. His body was covered in big, purple bruises that still haven't faded, patches of torched flesh, and angry scars left from belts and little sharp objects. Sebastian's stomach was concave, and his ribs stuck out enormously. This was after he'd _gained_ weight. And he was the thinnest person Trent ever saw. And he saw Nick's mom before she died of cancer. She was extremely emaciated. How did anyone get used to this? How did he get used to this?

How were they blind to this? "I'm…" Trent was fumbling for words. How did he look like _before_ he gained weight?

Trent didn't get this. "How did you sleep with other guys?" he finally asked. "Do they not care about…?"

How could anyone not care about that? Sebastian must have been sleeping with guys that didn't care that he looked like he'd been thrown straight into a fryer, and then belted like he was a misbehaved fucking… Trent didn't even know. He couldn't imagine anyone treating a _DOG_ like that, much less a father belting his son like that. And then finding guys that didn't seem to care about that or were probably into the fact that Sebastian was _this thin?_ How was _that_ even possible? And Sebastian slept with a _lot_ of guys. How did he find that many assholes that didn't really care if they slept with was a wasted sixteen-year-old little kid that had been branded by a fucking belt?

 _Seriously?_ Trent said to himself. _You had a fight with this guy like five seconds ago._ How was it hard to believe that people didn't give a shit about him? _Ten seconds ago, YOU wanted to hit him too… yeah, why not! Hit the fucking kid that was abused all his life._ That was probably the most shameful that Trent had ever felt in his entire life. How could he?

Sebastian looked embarrassed almost, as he grabbed his shirt. How was Sebastian _embarrassed_ by it?

"Get out," Sebastian tried to put a shirt on whilst balancing with his crutches. " _GET OUT OF MY FUCKING ROOM!_ "

Trent didn't move. He just inched closer to Sebastian. "I'm—"

Just before Trent could answer that, Sebastian socked him straight into the face. Trent reeled backwards, holding his cheek into his hands. Sebastian went from being pissed to going white, and panting.

"Shit," Sebastian collapsed on his bed, tossing his crutches aside. He buried his head into his hands. _"Fuckfuckfuck."_

"Hey, it's okay!" Trent sat down beside him and smiled weakly. "I deserved that!" Trent laughed a little. It did hurt, but he guessed that he really did deserve it for being such a dick.

Sebastian's eyes hardened, "I thought so too." And Trent was pretty sure that Sebastian was talking about himself.

Trent was staring vacantly at Sebastian's face for a little while. He looked paler and more tired than usual—and he usually was very pale and tired. "I'm sorry," Trent said. He had never thought he'd been in a situation where he got punched in the face _and_ then he apologised to the person that tried to sock him one. "We can schedule another appointment today. I mean… uh… Dave's dad probably would take you to another appointment."

He then rubbed his neck. "If you want to!" Trent told him. "You don't have to. _BUT_ I'll drive you if you… want to?"

Sebastian sat down on his mattress. Trent stared at his huge cast. It probably weighed more than the rest of him.

"No," Sebastian said, and Trent didn't want to argue. He sat down next to Sebastian.

Sebastian didn't hit him, so he guessed that it was okay for him to be sitting down right next to him.

"I'm sorry about everything," Trent said again, and he meant the second time even more than the first. "I mean it."

He didn't say anything. Trent wasn't surprised. What was Sebastian supposed to say? _Thank you, we're friends now?_

"That was nice," Trent resumed his lethal small talk. "Uh… giving the doctor a new mug as a gift. It was thoughtful."

"Sure," Sebastian looked like he barely heard what Trent said.

"And uh…" Trent tried to think of what to say next, and he blurted it out before he even thought: "The shrink gave me his number, so you can talk to him if you need to. And I think you should… uh… yeah."

Sebastian nodded his head silently. Trent looked around the giant basement. Sebastian had more flower arrangements in here than a florist getting ready for a wedding. The Warbler's flower arrangement, which was beautiful and vibrant when they picked it out, looked more suited for a funeral now.

"You think I should… _what?"_ Sebastian snorted, and Trent cleared his throat again. He cleared his throat so many times that he bet that it was now dry, because it felt like sandpaper. "What do you wanna fucking say?"

Trent didn't know what he wanted to say. He just wanted to say the right stuff. "Uh… I think you should—um…"

Sebastian was smirking. "If you were going to lose your virginity with Dave Karofsky, where were you gonna do it?"

Trent didn't know why he didn't expect that this time. Since Sebastian already asked him if he lost his virginity. "Um… I probably want something classical. Romantic," Trent didn't care if Sebastian made fun of him anymore.

Sebastian rolled his eyes. " _Classical?_ What the fuck does that mean?" he finally asked. "I _classically_ lost my virginity."

"I guess it sounds weird," Trent's ears were red. "Maybe I could've phrased it differently." _Classically_ phrased.

Trent bit down on his lower lip. He guessed Sebastian wanted to talk about sex now. "Uh… if you were going to re-lose your virginity that you lost maybe a million years ago, would you… _um_ —how would you have wanted to do it?"

Sebastian cocked his head to one side. "I… I ain't so sure," he admitted. "I ain't ever thought about it."

Trent leaned a little against his pillow, which didn't feel as fluffy as it looked. In fact, the mattress didn't seem like a good idea for a guy with a broken leg all together. "What do you think about?"

"Dave," Sebastian said. Trent's heart fluttered. _Because what was he supposed to say? Dave is my boyfriend, you can't even think about him? Just because you're sad doesn't mean we'd break up?_ "Hey! You asked, princess. Don't give me that look."

"I just… I didn't expect it," Trent finally said. Paul Karofsky hated him so much. Dinner tonight was gonna suck.

Sebastian looked down at his lap. "Is Dave gonna see me?" he finally asked. "Or is he fucking sick of me?"

"I'll ask him," but mentally, Trent was already wondering if he should tell Dave anything. Because as far as Dave knew, Sebastian was still in the ward—pretty much being drowned by dead yellow flowers.


	36. Chapter 36

__as i mentioned in the last chapters, this is actually a **triple** update. there are **THREE** chapters that i just recently uploaded. a triple update for the festive feel, am i right? angst to go with your Christmas biscuits!  
__

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Thirty-Six

* * *

Kurt's heart did a mini pause when he opened the door and he saw Sebastian's sister standing there. _If_ she was not carrying a baby and holding a heaving chocolate cake, Kurt would probably have told her to go away.

"Mom made this for Sebastian," Lena said, as if Sebastian didn't have _an eating disorder_.

Kurt carried the chocolate cake to the counter, ignoring the ache in his right arm. Sebastian had been sticking his gay magazines into Kurt's room, with pretty pink glitter lubes. He was pissed but yesterday, he… got curious. The fact that he got off on something that Sebastian gave him quite thoroughly disgusted, confused _and_ disturbed him.

"I didn't get cake," Kurt's heart skipped a few beats when he heard Dave's voice by the doorway. _Dave was here?_

Kurt looked back to see Dave in a black-and-red jacket that looked too big for him. His jeans looked rumpled and messy, and he generally looked like a normal high school guy that didn't suck dick. His cologne was a little strong, and he was holding a bunch of flowers. These were fat, puffy peonies wrapped around in a neat bubblegum-pink ribbon.

"Hey," Kurt said, picking up the flowers from Dave. Sebastian still received at least two or three bouquets a day. It had been two and a half weeks since he'd come from the hospital. "Taking a break from the yellow ones?"

"Thought I'd try something different," Dave explained, "The guy at the shop said it was popular."

"For guys that just got out of the ICU?" Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Or for girls that you wanted to put out?"

Dave smiled a little. "Probably for the chicks," he replied. "Do you think Smythe would throw these at me?"

"I think he's afraid to touch it," Kurt replied. "He might accidentally contract gay man cooties."

Dave laughed. "What if I give him a cock ring too?" Kurt bet that Sebastian would tear it off the stem (with protective gloves), and then use the ring on the spot whilst grinding his hips to the most lurid songs he could come up with.

 _No_ , Sebastian's voice said in Kurt's head. _I'd ask him if he really thinks that my cock is small enough to withstand a ring._

Dalton started two weeks ago, and Kurt's first day of community college wasn't due for a week. He had a job at the Lima Bean, and bought Sebastian daily discounted lattes. Kurt also got him a daily pastry or two—croissants with lashes of butter or cheese, big muffins that were studded with chocolate-chips, and sandwiches that were stuffed with turkey and mayonnaise. Sebastian didn't eat most of this stuff. He _did_ dissect mayonnaise out of the turkey sandwich, and then added three inches of kale and fat-free yoghurt to fill the gap of mayonnaise-bread-innards. So yeah.

Sebastian did _not_ eat healthy. He was obsessed. He was scared of eating sugar in case he had a stroke tomorrow.

Apart from his appointments, Sebastian barely left the basement. But he was also probably the mysterious creature that managed to clean the living room and Kurt and Finn's rooms _with_ his crutches. Sebastian also managed to _not_ need help to get in or out of the bathroom or take a shower even though this house was not exactly crutch-friendly.

And today, Kurt was seriously disturbed when he realised the lawn was mowed, _and_ Carole's flowers watered.

How did this guy do it when he was asleep until noon and needed at least three different painkillers to sleep anyway?

 _That kid is supposed to be recovering from managing not to die_ , Burt told Kurt. _NOT sticking Finn's underwear back in his closet._

Kurt had some nightmares about the events that took place in the Smythe household. If he had nightmares and he'd only been there for about an hour, he could not even imagine what Sebastian was suppressing.

 _An animalistic need to stuff a guy with my non-constrainted cock?_ Sebastian would probably offer as a suggestion.

"Is he eating okay?" Lena broke Kurt out of his thoughts. Kurt was wondering if Sebastian and Lena had the same taste—they were both currently in only black and bought owned jeans with chains stuck to them. They looked like they were part of a gang and were about to head out and smoke weed. Which Kurt was _sure_ that Sebastian did downstairs in the basement at least a few times a week… much to Burt's chagrin.

There were only so much that Kurt could do to convince his dad that it was probably medicinal.

Kurt stared at the cake. "If Sebastian eats cake today without palpitations, I'm personally going to sleep with him." Which he did not want to do, no matter how much weed he consumed or how many magazines Sebastian gave him.

Dave rubbed his neck. "He don't like cake?" he asked. _No, he has a eating disorder,_ Kurt thought. _Did you notice?_

"With his deadly eating disorder and his aversion to eating anything that _isn't_ going to give him superpowers the next morning?" Kurt didn't get this how he was okay with eating a whole meal, but he hyperventilated when the coffee shop gave him a microscopic biscuit to have with his coffee. "If he eats a slice of cake today, I'm pretty sure he's convinced that tomorrow, he's going to need a kidney transplant because of his diabetes."

Lena even snorted like Sebastian. Maybe those two had more in common than he thought. She placed a hand protectively over her baby bump and said, "Maybe because he _did_ have diabetes?" she asked.

Dave looked surprised. "That's cool," he said. "But isn't that kind of diabetes like… not related to food?"

Lena rolled her eyes. "No, _I'm_ talking about the kind that you usually get when you're old cause you're too big."

Trying to imagine a kid that was so fat that he had diabetes as a kid was impossible. Especially if they were talking about Skinny Skeletal Sebastian that was currently having nightmares about anything with more than 1% fat.

"Sebastian's _SIXTEEN!"_ Kurt didn't believe that. "When did he have the time to contract that kind of diabetes?"

Lena just shrugged. "He was on the pills from before. And the injections," she explained. "He got it after he hit the three-hundred-mark." Kurt still could not believe that Sebastian used to be _three-hundred-pounds_. That meant that he shed at least two-quarters of his body weight. How could someone lose most of their body weight without dying?

Kurt tried to imagine Dave look like Sebastian, and it made him sick. And Sebastian used to be _WAY_ _bigger_ than Dave.

"Can I go talk to him?" Lena finally asked. "I'm pretty sure he hasn't left the house since he got here."

Kurt slowly nodded his head, but he didn't know why she needed his permission to talk to her own flesh and blood. He did, however, hope that Lena would somehow magically turn Sebastian into a functioning human being.

"Trent didn't tell me that he was out of the hospital," Dave said. "I… I don't know why he didn't."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Probably because Sebastian _likes_ you?"

Dave shook his head. "Yeah, I know that he does," he replied. "But he was in the fucking ICU, man! He was hooked to needles and wires and machines and _crap_. Why the fuck should Trent care about the fact that he _likes_ me?"

Kurt opened his mouth to defend Trent, but it a pretty bad move on Trent's part. "I don't know."

 _"HE COULD'VE DIED!"_ Dave yelled. "Not once or twice but like… I'm pretty sure it's a _fucking miracle_ that his dad didn't manage to kill him. It's amazing that his fucking _OBVIOUS_ eating disorder didn't make him croak."

Kurt shuddered, thinking about it. "Do you really think that—?"

 _"YEAH, I DO!"_ Dave cut him off. "Yeah, I really think that it could've happened. I think you know that it could've happened. But people don't wanna talk about it, you know? It's just fucking easier to send him flowers for a month and a half. Because everyone that got half a fucking brain could figure out that he could've just _died_."

 _Or he could've shot himself if he hadn't lost so much blood_ , Kurt thought bitterly. "I can't believe that it turned out like this."

"I know," Dave agreed. "No wonder he's so fucking pissed all the time. If I was him, I'd be fucking wondering when people are going to start saying something about it. The fact that he got _that thin_ without anyone doing anything is a fucking travesty. How the fuck could you let anyone get that thin anyway?"

All Kurt could think about was Sebastian picking up those pair of pants from the ladies' section. "I know."

"We owe him big time," Dave replied. "Did you know that I saw him throw up behind the dumpsters before? We had a fight in this café and—shit. I went to his house. It looks like a fucking health hazard by the way—and…"

"I know!" Kurt said in disgust. "He's been asking me every day to take him there to pick up _his things!_ "

"Really?" Dave seemed surprised. "What kind of stuff does he have back there?"

"No clue," Kurt admitted. He doubted Sebastian would answer him. "But he did nearly die for it."

"And he still doesn't have his stuff?" Dave asked. "Seriously! Uh… how about we go get him his stuff?"

Kurt took a deep breath. What was he going to say? That being near that house made him anxious? How terribly stupid, considering the guy that was tortured there the whole summer wanted to get _his things back_. He nearly died because he wanted _his things back_. And he _still_ wanted his things back.

He half-wondered if Sebastian had the cure for cancer in that house since he was so eager to return there.

"We probably should," Kurt finally said. He was terrified. "But I… I'm not particularly excited about it." _Who cares?_

Dave nodded his head. "When his sister's done talking to him, we should go."

Kurt nodded his head. He hated himself for having nightmares about that place. He hated it because _he_ was the reason Sebastian even ended up in that broken-down shack of dismay. The whole world's population of arthropods lived there, and Kurt _hated_ bugs. But what was he going to say? That he wanted to sit this one out because he had delicate sensibilities? He'd just be content with the fact that he was letting Sebastian walk in the house that _nearly killed him_ without having his support? Because he didn't want to face up to the idea that anyone actually used to live there?

"Trent and I broke up," Dave broke Kurt out of his thoughts. "I mean…we weren't really officially going out but…"

"That's too bad," Kurt tried to refrain from asking how this was going to change Sebastian's relationships with them.

"Yeah, I didn't want to. It's the first guy I ever dated so I thought that maybe we'd last a while—even if it didn't work out, you know?" Dave nodded his head. "But it's just-Sebastian could've _died_ without me getting to talk to him and Trent didn't let me know just because Sebastian has a little thing for me? Come fucking on, Trent. I don't buy that! And I just… don't wanna play games with someone else's _life_ , you know?" Kurt agreed with that whole-heartedly.

"Because this is like Blaine not telling _you_ about me trying to hang myself, because I'm into you. Seriously."

Kurt couldn't even fathom Blaine not telling him about Dave's suicide. It sounded _so cruel_. "I'm sorry, Dave."

Dave smiled a little. "It's not your fault, Kurt. You _know_ that!"

Kurt was sorry that he couldn't tell Dave that Sebastian tried to kill himself too. Dave might be able to say something, you know? But Kurt was already angry at himself for accidentally telling Trent in the first place. Kurt couldn't just tell people about the most vulnerable he'd ever seen someone be. How _wrong_ was that anyway?

Kurt was happy pretty much every day, thinking that Dave was alive. Every day that Dave was okay was a chance for him to prove that he was sorry that he didn't notice how much he was struggling.

"But it's just fucking _crazy_ how this happened to go past everyone's heads," Dave said. "Even his school. Even me."

He was sure that this was because everyone just thought Sebastian was a lying dick. Which was not a great excuse.

Kurt nodded his head. "I know," he said. "And it wasn't like Sebastian wasn't verbal about it. And even if he wasn't, the scary weight loss combined with the fact that he dresses like he's homeless should've been enough."

Dave snorted. "I still have his clothes in my car," he admitted. "One of his jeans have _thirty-five_ holes in them."

"You counted the holes in his jeans?" Kurt should not be laughing. He should be appalled. "That's disgusting!"

Dave shook his head. "I tried to wear one of his shirts and ended up ripping it in two halves because of my huge, bulging biceps," he added on. Trying to imagine Dave putting on Sebastian's extra-extra small top was hilarious.

"I'm sure," Kurt was in a better mood. He could barely even remember the days where Dave was awful to him.

He heard the door open and looked up to see Nate Barnes walk inside the kitchen. He came to visit Sebastian pretty much every day after school. But he was two hours late on both Mondays and Wednesdays because of his after-school lacrosse practice. He was currently sweating—pardon Kurt, _glistening_. His honey-coloured hair gleamed beautifully in the light. Nate had his backpack on him, and a rose-coloured fluffy teddy bear into his hands.

Nate's eyes were so blue that light just shone right through them. In Sebastian-speak, he'd probably mention something that they were bluer than his balls right now, stuck in the basement all day long with no entertainment.

Dave was speechless, which was pretty much anyone that met Nate for the first time.

"Hey," Nate said to Dave, and then stuck his hand out for a handshake. "My name is Nathan Barnes."

"Dave Karofsky," he tentatively accepted the handshake. Kurt felt like there was way too much testosterone in one room right now. "I'm a fri—…uh… I know Sebastian. And… I got him flowers since he almost died a month back."

"That's generally a good reason to give someone flowers," Nate commented, smiling weakly. "How is he?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Moody because I told him that he can't live in the basement forever," he was worried about Sebastian staying there all the time. He was sure Sebastian was seriously depressed, but how could he bring this up? He absolutely refused Kurt driving him to his appointments. "And he's probably horny."

"He's always horny," Nate probably wanted to help Sebastian with that. "So, you want him to _come out?"_

Kurt glared at Nate for his bad joke. "Ha ha _ha_ ," he mumbled in irritation. "I find that hilarious. Why don't you go tell Sebastian that you want to have his surrogate babies and then maybe he'd go out on a date with you?"

"Stop it, Kurt," Nate went red. No, Sebastian didn't say anything, but it was kind of hilarious that Sebastian was pining after Blaine first, who was unavailable (and continued to be). Now, Dave, that was available then unavailable and then became available again. Meanwhile, the most gorgeous guy that ever existed was pining after him. However, Conceited Face Everyone-Thinks-I'm-Hot Sebastian Smythe didn't even know that Nate _liked_ him.

Dave looked like he got it too. " _You_ like Sebastian?" he asked Nate, who just went redder. "Wow."

Nate ran his hand through his locks of pure gold. "Come on, Kurt," he groaned. "Stop."

"It's just…" Kurt admitted. "Sebastian doesn't look like he knows that you _really_ like him… possibly even lo—"

Nate sighed deeply. "Because it doesn't matter, okay?" he said. "Sebastian has an eating disorder _and_ his dad was beating him up for his whole summer—I'm pretty sure he doesn't need to know I'm into him."

Sebastian was too busy crushing on Dave to notice Nate's interest. This was particularly evident with his daily flower deliveries. Since Sebastian separated his flowers downstairs into piles called _From Dave_ and _Not From Dave_. Dave's pile obviously hadn't grown since he was discharged from the ICU.

"What do you and Sebastian talk about?" Dave asked, sitting down on a chair. He'd been standing for a while.

Nate sat down too, placing a hand on his lap. "Ironically enough," he was eying the pink, fat peonies in Kurt's hands—the ones that he even forgot that he was holding. "Last time that we were talking, he told me that he thinks that the flowers must cost a real fortune. You know, since guys are sending him some daily."

David went red. "Yeah," he looked at the flowers. "He don't like them I guess?"

"He just said that it'll be nicer if he got to talk to some people," Nate explained. It didn't sound like anything Sebastian would say. "Not about like… what happened, but just having some people come over is nice… I think he's right, you know. Like anyone could send a bunch of flowers. But _looking_ at the guy that you hurt is pretty bold."

Kurt didn't think about it like that. People were almost buying his forgiveness. That sounded _wrong_.

"Yeah," Kurt swallowed the lump in his throat. He'd read names on these bouquets that he never heard about before.

"He likes them though," Nate admitted. Kurt was finding that hard to believe—Sebastian liked flowers?

Kurt shook his head. "He does not," he was sure. "I think he wants to light them all on fire."

"Ha!" Nate found that hilarious. "I noticed that he's been looking up what the flowers that people get him mean on Wikipedia…well, he didn't actually tell me that. I noticed it on his tabs when we were streaming movies yesterday."

"He's been looking up _what?"_ Dave's ears went red. "What the fuck do _these_ mean?" he pointed to the peonies.

Nate laughed. "I'm pretty sure it means you're pissed at him," he said light-heartedly.

" _I_ ain't pissed," Dave glared at the flowers, like they could change into something else. "Smythe thinks I'm pissed?"

"What am I pissed about?" Sebastian asked. Unless he put on sixty pounds, he shouldn't be allowed to wear black.

The kitchen felt crowded because Sebastian and Lena got into the kitchen—though technically there were three more people in the room. Though Sebastian was so thin he counted as maybe half a person.

Sebastian was on his crutches, and it looked like he would rather be lying down. All eyes were on him. "What?"

Kurt cleared his throat. _"You left the basement?"_ he was surprised seeing Sebastian standing on crutches. Though he suspected he had to do that to shower and manage to trim Carole's gardens without her even noticing.

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "No, I'm still in the basement, jacking off to guys that don't ask stupid questions like that."

Kurt refrained the urge from asking Sebastian if he wanted cake, considering Sebastian might actually die on the spot if he was offered anything with sugar, chemicals or hydrogenated palm oils.

"I got you those," Dave finally said. He pointed towards the big, fat peonies in Kurt's hand, and Kurt felt like a messenger for flowers. A very bad messenger for flowers. "So yeah… just don't look up what they mean."

If Dave was any other guy in the planet, Kurt was sure Sebastian would tell him to shove it up his ass because then maybe the shit that he spewed out of his mouth would smell better.

Sebastian cocked his head to one side. "Oh… kay," he said, inspecting them. "They're pretty," he said after.

They're _pretty_ , Kurt reiterated into his head. He didn't even know that Sebastian knew what the word _pretty_ was. He was under the impression that every time Sebastian tried to say it, _petty_ came out instead.

Nate also noticed this, because he looked like he went into shock. _"Pretty?"_ he reiterated.

"Yeah? You like 'em?" Dave asked. Sebastian nodded his head. "You like these more or the old ones?"

Sebastian paused to think about it. Kurt expected this was the time Sebastian was going to redeem himself. _You thought I was serious? You thought I actually want flowers to stink up the basement that already smells like Lady Gay's vanilla farts?_

"I like purple flowers," Sebastian said. Uh… maybe this was just Sebastian's way of flirting? Or maybe this was the ventilation-associated brain damage that his mom told them about.

"Yeah?" Dave asked, and Sebastian nodded his head again. "What kind are your favourites?"

Sebastian just shrugged. "I ain't sure of the names." Kurt was, however, sure Sebastian didn't eat enough kale today.

"Do you want cake?" Dave gestured towards the cake that Lena got. Kurt held his breath because Dave asked The Question. Everyone knew that you did not ask Sebastian if he wanted _CAKE_. "Uh… it's not my cake. It's—"

Sebastian cocked his head to the side. "You'll get me purple ones tomorrow?" he asked.

Dave took a moment to recover. "Yeah," he said.

Nate looked surprised, the teddy bear in his hand was pretty much long forgotten. "I can get you some—"

Dave cut him off. "Kurt and I are going to drive you to get your stuff," he said. "Is that okay?"

 _It is most definitely not okay_ , Kurt said to himself. _There are bugs and fleas and probably Fred Weasley's ghost._

"Yeah," Sebastian said coolly, then he picked off one of the chocolate buttons that were on top of the cake and ate it without prompting. Kurt was sure that Sebastian just had a stroke. "I want my fucking stuff back."


	37. Chapter 37

_as i mentioned in the last two chapters, this is actually a triple update. there are three chapters that i just recently uploaded. for those of you that are like me and just skip the latest chapter... go read from **Chapter 35** since from then on it's **new**.  
_

 _this is one of the more intense chapters, so i'm hoping to keep you a little bit on your toes! i might actually update **before** the New Years' too... we'll see!_

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Thirty-Seven

* * *

Kurt just _had_ to take a piss the second that he walked into Sebastian Smythe's old infested shack of doom and gloom. There was just something about having to see the world's biggest collection of moths that just made Kurt's bladder want to contract! However, he'd rather piss in his new jeans than ask Sebastian was the bathroom was.

But he could technically ask the termites behind the wall. They were probably fond of the plumbing in this house!

Dave looked nauseated. Kurt was sure he'd much rather sleep in a ditch with a corpse than live here.

"This is a _fucking swamp!"_ Dave's voice raised three octaves. He sounded more like Kurt now. "My shits look nicer."

Kurt did not know the contents of Dave's bowels, but Kurt was sure that there were mammoths taking nicer shits.

Nate was silent-faced and disgusted. He let out a girlish scream when he saw a moth flying to him. _"HELP!"_

He jumped up and then tried to duck against the flying contraception of tropical illnesses. Sebastian was completely unfazed because it was lame to be scared of anything other than the idea of eating Pop-Tarts for breakfast.

"Barnes, if you're going to cry for help, every time you see something that ain't pretty, then we're going to be here all fucking day," Sebastian hissed coldly, his shoulders slumping. He practically disappeared every time he took an inhale. Every time Sebastian went to sleep in the house, Kurt considered the need to give him the kiss of life. The thought of Sebastian and Kurt locking lips would probably be enough to prevent Sebastian from dying in his sleep. "Keep your eyes on Lady Hummel. He's _finally_ more pleasant-looking than something."

Yes, Kurt would like to think that he looked better-looking than a mutant moth the size of a hockey puck.

"Sebastian, that is not funny," Kurt said softly. Sebastian was way more disturbed when Kurt told him that he had to wake up before noon for his own appointment. He acted like he was being tortured—which… he had been.

"Dave thinks it's funny," Sebastian put Dave on the spot, who forced a torturous chuckle. _"See?"_

"Dave does not think it's funny," Kurt crossed his arms over his chest. "For Prada's sake, this house _eludes_ ghosts!"

"No, I don't have any _lube_ ," Sebastian replied, smirking. This time, Dave was sort of smiling.

Nate danced around bugs like he was the one that had to pee—which didn't help Kurt's situation. Meanwhile, Sebastian assessed the living room like he could see beyond the cum-covered couch and vomit-strewn carpet. A house that could truly make Finn's treehouse looked like it belonged on the front cover of a home improvement magazine!

There were pictures of Sebastian as a kid all over the floor. The picture frames were shattered.

Kurt had a difficult time making out the round-shaped six-year-old to be anything like the emaciated Sebastian that he knew now. And was that _pink_ that Sebastian was wearing? Kurt was so convinced that Sebastian was so allergic to pink he couldn't even eat strawberries in case he grew a big, fat vagina overnight. He was smiling brightly with a mouthful of metal. Kurt assumed this was before Sebastian knew what a blowjob even meant.

Seeing a family of maggots near the pots, Kurt's breathing hitched. He might die from a urinary tract infection.

This house was a living nightmare! From the sour-smelling carpets that Sebastian affectionately dubbed as _the_ _mould museum_ to shattered, blood-covered stairs that probably had more of Sebastian's blood than he himself did! How unnerving was it that you were walking on something stained with _someone else's blood?_

No wonder Sebastian looked like he fed vampires every night. His blood painted the walls.

"Sebastian?" Dave called after him softly, like just being in here long enough would break Sebastian in two halves.

He ignored Dave and just hobbled upstairs with his crutches. Of course, he didn't react to the squeaking steps or the fact that there were more exotic insects in this household than in forests around the world. There were fossils in the couch that could pre-date dinosaurs. The walls smelled like a chemical factory just exploded. The wallpapers were peeling off. But Kurt could not for the life of him figure out where that smell was coming from! The smell of a rat that died from the shits? The pungent scent of measles? The fragrant smell of Voldemort's decaying body?

Nate looked at Sebastian dumbly, like he just finally saw Sebastian for what he was. His soft blue eyes were bubbling over with tears. "Hey," he reached over to touch Sebastian's bony shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I'm ready to piss myself with excitement," Sebastian replied icily, which made Kurt nearly piss himself.

Kurt bet Sebastian was remembering the days that he was there where nobody helped him out. There were people in the world that _let_ him live here. How bad was that? That there were people that didn't mind that a sixteen-year-old emaciated kid came home to the night of living terrors? And Kurt was _one of them!_

"Sebastian, is this really _that_ important?" Dave, who was happy to drive him here, asked. "This place is—"

"Hey, buddy, _I_ used to live here. If I remember correctly, I asked you if I could stay the fucking night in your house and you told me that I should count my blessings that you accepted my fucking flowers," Sebastian told Dave, trying to pretend like the crutches weren't bothering him since his endurance was strictly related to how many episodes of _Suits_ he could wash before he crashed. "So, can it or get out. _I_ ain't here to wipe off anyone's tears."

Nate rubbed the tears out of his eyes. "Oh…okay," he stammered, looking embarrassed that he was crying.

Dave looked surprised. Kurt was too, since pretty much everything that Dave did nowadays was ethereal and magical.

"I didn't know that…" Dave's voice was low. "If I knew that _this_ is where you lived—"

Sebastian cocked his head to one side, looking back at Dave. They were at the top part of the collapsible-looking stairs.

"Should I have told you the bed bugs bite me when I sleep?" Sebastian asked. "Would you have _BELIEVED_ me?"

Dave looked taken back, but he nodded his head. "I'm sorry, Sebastian." He paused. "If you showed pictures…?"

Sebastian was _fuming_. "So, pics, or my father punching me to death _DIDN'T HAPPEN?"_ his tone got even colder, and Kurt shuddered like he'd been slapped with a block of ice. "Oh, I get it, Dave! It's _MY FAULT!_ If I just let the world know that my fucking father regrets not suffocating me when I was a fucking baby, I bet that _I'D_ feel a lot better!"

Dave flinched, but Kurt could understand Sebastian's hostility. He shouldn't have to _show_ someone that he was being _physically abused by his father_ to get help. It was like asking a rape victim for proof. What asshole would do that?

Sebastian shook his head in disbelief. "Believe it or not, Karofsky, I'd rather _not_ tell the whole fucking world the most intimate details of my fucking life just so they guy I like could let me stay in his house for a few days!"

Dave was rendered speechless. He opened his mouth to say something but whatever he had to say died on his lips.

 _"I'M… NOT… THAT… DEPSERATE!"_ Sebastian yelled back, his crutches shaking under his wrath.

Sebastian didn't look very forgiving, standing there in the hallway where he nearly shot himself to death. It was still covered with his blood, dried on the carpets and the walls. It looked like a scene out of a horror movie.

" _YOU_ wanted _PICTURES_ , right?" Sebastian asked Dave seriously. " _THIS_ is where I nearly fucking bled to death! But maybe—if you don't believe that then—" Sebastian leaned against the wall and pulled up his shirt.

Underneath the black cloth, Sebastian pointed towards patches of big-blue bruises that still hadn't healed from months ago. "This is where he stepped on my chest with his fucking boot," he pointed towards a bleeding gash from a belt-shaped wound. "I got matching ones on my back. Do you wanna see? What about you, Hummel? _You_ like matching crap all the fucking time. Do you wanna see? Do you fucking _believe me?_ Or do you want to see where he set me on fucking fire? Do you want my fucking medical records? My fucking X-rays?"

Sebastian let his shirt drop down. Every time Kurt saw him shirtless, he felt like Sebastian lost ten more pounds.

Dave looked like he'd been slapped. Yeah, slapped by the wasted guy that was tired of walking around in crutches.

Kurt felt a shudder down his spine, remembering the pale, bleeding Sebastian lying on the ground. Remembering the gun that he was holding, and how wide-eyed he was. Kurt had never noticed how green Sebastian's eyes were, or how young he was. Or how relieved he was when he felt Sebastian's heart pounding against his thin chest. And how he was so very thin that Kurt could see his heart pulsating against his prominent ribs in his tight shirt.

There was a trail of papers on the side of the hallway that Kurt didn't notice before, covered in blood. They were all decorated with bullet holes. Kurt had seen enough bad horror movies with Blaine to know what was coming next.

"Sebastian, I don't think that this is safe if we…" Kurt felt queasy. Because bullet holes of pieces of paper were generally a sign to bolt from a house as fast as possible. "You could get hurt."

 _"I could get hurt?"_ Sebastian mocked, gesturing to his crutches. "What could possibly make this fucking worse?"

No matter how much Kurt thought about it, he couldn't fathom the idea that Sebastian lived here. It was probably like trying to teach Finn geometry. Because _who_ could live _here?_

Sebastian probably inhaled enough asbestos here for a lifetime.

Sebastian pulled himself up with his crutches and practically hobbled his way right to another room. Dave sprinted to him, because Sebastian looked tired. Kurt would be too, if he was trying to walk around America's Scariest Haunted House with enough oxycodone in his system to kill a drug addict. Which, of course, the doctor prescribed to Sebastian because he probably had fractured every single part of his body at one point or another.

In fact, last time Kurt drove Sebastian to the surgeon, the doctor took pictures of his X-rays. And then he called in other doctors to look at them. When Sebastian said he did three sports, they all looked at him like he was insane.

Now, the most vigorous sport Sebastian could do was taking a shower. And he shouldn't even do that alone.

"We should back off," Nate told Kurt softly. "If I lived here and nobody did anything about it, _I'd_ be pissed too. Hell, I'd probably be pissed forever. And I sure as hell wouldn't trust anyone."

Kurt nodded his head in agreement. "Are you taking pictures?" he just noticed Nate had his iPhone's camera out.

Nate nodded his head. "Yeah," he said. "I know that he said that stuff about not needing pictures, but just in case he wished he had taken some… you know? But it's not like I'm going to use them. But maybe… maybe he just wants to show people the truth, you know? And he should. People should know that this happened right under their noses—especially the teachers. He _needs_ to let it out, so he could try to move on, you get me?"

Kurt felt bad, thinking about everything. He didn't feel like the nice minority that he did all this time in high school.

"Dalton has a new principal now," Nate said. "After how public it got, they had to do something. My mom didn't even want to send me there anymore—but this new one is nicer. She asked if she could visit him."

Kurt didn't know why he found the news shocking. Sebastian's dad was so high-profile that he bet that Dalton had to do a massive overhaul for managing not to notice that that Sebastian's BMI was lower than a stoner's grades.

He remembered opening a magazine and shuddered at the pictures they chose to use. But he looked _worse_ in real life.

"Are people talking about him in Dalton?" Kurt cautiously asked. Nate nodded his head.

" _All the time!_ Even the teachers!" Nate didn't look happy about it. Even more so when a giant tarantula climbed on top of Nate's shiny black loafers, but he shook it off without a problem. Out of all the stuff that was here, big harmless hairy spiders weren't really that bad. "Some people think that it's really sad, some people think that he's lying about it… the calculus teacher is _so_ embarrassed because he even saw Sebastian for a little bit during the summer."

Mr Wright was now Mr Wrong. "Oh," Kurt said. "Him failing a class that he said that he didn't take?"

"Yeah," Nate shook his head. "It's a big fucking mess, and Dalton _had_ to do something about it. But I think that if Sebastian goes back to Dalton, he's going to have a lot of people that are gonna help him. They changed a lot, so you know, they could assure parents that this isn't gonna happen again."

Hearing this, Kurt felt like the best thing for Sebastian was not to take the year off but to go back to Dalton. It sounded like a lot of people wanted to help him out, and Sebastian _needed_ human contact.

By the time they got to Sebastian's room, Sebastian was sitting on a broken-looking bed with a giant rat in his hand and a box of stuff beside him. The bed stunk of chlorine and body odour. There was a shattered lamp that was in the house's favourite shade—beige and red-brown congealed old blood that could make period blood look sexy (unfortunately, he stumbled across Rachel's tampons in her bedroom before.). There were papers flying _everywhere_. There was a small, fat disgusting giant rat on the side of the room that had blood pouring of it faster than water from a tap or… Kurt looked down at his crotch with a red hue to his cheeks. He did not need to think about that now. _Control yourself, Kurt!_ He tried to tell himself. _Pregnant woman do it all the time!_

Sebastian relaxed when Dave dug out a well-maintained manila folder from the pile of tattered clothes. Sebastian put the big, fat rat in the box, and immediately tore the file from Dave's hands.

"Thanks, big guy," Sebastian said, his hands protectively around that file that was important enough to die for.

"Is that a rat?" Kurt said in disgust, seeing that _thing_ stare back at him. "You are not bringing _THAT_ into my house!"

Sebastian stared at the rat. "He's my fucking pet. I'm taking him," he finally said. "Suck it up, princess."

Kurt was staring at the contents of the box. He didn't know why Sebastian had a stuffed toy giraffe in there for, or a sweater that looked about as outdated as Mr Schue's song selections. Fortunately, the rest of the stuff was important: the keys to his beaten-down car, his French passport, and details of his reports from his old schools. Kurt was sad to see about a dozen pictures of that cocky asshole when he was at a weight that wasn't playing with death every day.

"Fine," Kurt gave up. "But I'm taking you shopping after this… with Mercedes!"

"So, you want to buy me stuff for free?" Sebastian cocked his head to one side. "I'll think about it."

When one of the harmless tarantulas walked into the room, Nate leisurely picked it up. Kurt rolled his eyes.

Of course, Nate was the kind of guy that probably had snakes as pets. Just to show off how manly he was, and how his biceps could totally get him into a new Marvel movie if he just auditioned. Kurt heard a wheeze and looked down to see Sebastian's face. He was whiter than a marshmallow covered in white chocolate.

Sebastian practically stopped breathing. He could somehow not bat an eye when a soul-sucking moth whizzed in front of him, but the harmless spider had him looking like he was about to have a heart attack.

"You're scared of spiders?" Dave asked, looking surprised. A white-faced Sebastian slowly nodded his head.

"Let's go," Sebastian said almost immediately. Kurt couldn't believe he was about to have a panic attack.

Sebastian didn't mind walking through the hallway where he nearly died, but a _spider_ was enough to paralyse him.

Fortunately, everyone felt much better when they left the house. Sebastian regained his vigor in about three seconds. Especially when Kurt drove like… well, Sebastian… to the nearest possible toilet, of course. In the middle of taking the longest and most gratifying piss in his whole life, Sebastian walked in the bathroom—not because he needed to use it—but just to make fun of him for looking like a guy that just came after taking off his constraining cock ring.

Then Sebastian asked him if he had any kind of moisturising regimen for his 'chick dick.' Which put Kurt in a mood.

In fact, Sebastian's mood hadn't completely tanked after that visit to The House of What Happens Beyond the Grave.

Meanwhile, Kurt, Nate and Dave just wanted to rethink what happened in the last few months— _seriously_. Kurt bet that there were cleaner decade-old skeletons six feet under than that house. He bet that even most bacteria ran in the other direction when it came to that coven of _Candida_. And Sebastian lived there for ages by himself. Sure, Kurt had been there before, and he had found it disgusting. But now, that he wasn't thinking about the threat to Sebastian's life, he was shocked by how he'd managed to walk upstairs without fainting the first time!

After dropping Nate and Dave back to their cars, Kurt drove to Mercedes' house. Sebastian was relatively quiet, playing with his contaminated rat. Kurt tried to ignore the fact that they might die of the plaque tomorrow.

Mercedes was dressed also in all black. It made Kurt feel off in his mostly-white ensemble.

"What are _you_ wearing black for?" Mercedes asked Sebastian. "I could literally kill you by sitting on you."

"Yeah, _try_ to sit on a guy with a broken fucking leg," Sebastian mumbled in irritation. "See what happens."

Mercedes didn't threaten to sit on him to shut him up—though Kurt wanted to. "Where do you like to shop at?"

"I only shop at thrift stores," Sebastian snorted, crossing his arms. "I don't even like shopping… _and_ I'm broke."

"Too bad," Kurt said. "Because _you're_ going to buy something that isn't going to fall apart by the second use."

Sebastian just gestured towards his threadbare-looking clothes, as if they were completely fine. They might be fine—if you were auditioning for Oliver Twist. Kurt had honestly seen Sebastian drink more expensive water.

"What's going on with you and Dave Karofsky?" Mercedes asked Sebastian, who didn't expect the question.

"He's dating a living marshmallow," Sebastian said, and Kurt shuddered. He didn't understand how Sebastian could not only be a minority, but a former fat kid that probably got picked on a few times for being overweight and still act like he couldn't even fathom the idea of having a little extra stuffing. "How do you think I feel?"

 _Extra stuffing to him is probably having one of his ribs disappear after a giant meal of half a sandwich_ , Kurt mused to himself.

"What about Blaine?" Mercedes asked. Kurt cleared his throat—Blaine's boyfriend was right there you know!

Sebastian just shook his head. "Didn't work out," he explained. "Thought that the princess understood what I was all about, you know? He's a really nice guy, but he doesn't get where I'm coming from. But with… you know, after Dave tried to—… yeah, it just…I thought that he might get me. Since we're both technically evil jocks that got mentally fucked so… yeah. But I don't think it's gonna work out either. Cause he don't like me like _that_."

Kurt did not expect Sebastian to pour his heart out to Mercedes like that. "What makes you think that?"

He couldn't believe he was having a conversation with Sebastian and he didn't once mention the fact that all that white made him look like a giant just came all over him. It was… progress.

Sebastian looked like he was thinking about it. "He said he's into me, and _then_ he gets together with Trent in the same fucking week," he snorted. He looked a little sad—like the kind of sad when you realised that you were chasing a guy that didn't even know you existed. "Come on. A guy that's into me wouldn't do that."

"That's a low blow," Mercedes replied, running her hand through her perfectly blow-dried hair. "No bar dates?"

"Nope," Sebastian popped his _p_. He was half-texting something that looked like the next script to the _Game of Thrones_ book. He was telling Burt about what he wanted changed in the basement. "Did you ever sleep with a guy?"

"No," Mercedes said. Sebastian looked impressed. Not many virgins could give off the vibe that they weren't pathetic.

Sebastian was also amused. "You need a knight to ride on a horse and prove to you that he's worth penetrating you?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mercedes shot back almost immediately.

"Sebastian," Kurt sighed out in exasperation, letting his hands relax on the wheel. If they die tonight, it was Sebastian's fault for not being able to handle the fact that some people stayed virgins past thirteen. "Please, _behave_."

"Spank me and I'll consider it," Sebastian said, but then started laughing. "Can you even spank anyone? I bet you got the hands of a fucking baby. I'm sure that if you try to spank me, I might actually get bored and fall asleep."

"And you were _so nice_ just a second ago," Kurt mentioned. "I'm not the one that looks like they're getting their balls twisted every time they try to kid themselves into thinking they actually want to drink another soy cappuccino."

"Ha," Sebastian rolled his eyes. "I actually had that happen before. If it happens, you won't be drinking nothing."

Kurt was sure Finn said that he had his balls twisted before. But Finn did say that he was pretty sure that he knew the pain of childbirth now. He was also sure that his balls didn't even work the same way anymore, which was more information than Kurt ever needed to know about his stepbrother's testicles.

Yeah, the stepbrother that Kurt used to creepily stalk for three years of his life? That one.

At the mall, Kurt and Mercedes managed to walk out of three stores with enough shopping to last most people for a year. Meanwhile, Sebastian decided to stay outside and drink a giant peach smoothie.

"You have to buy something," Kurt finally said to Sebastian. "I didn't go to this shopping trip for myself."

Sebastian was gawking at the Kurt's bags. "Yeah? For me?" he asked incredulously. "Look, Hummel, I don't want your help. _I_ already got clothes that I'm trying to fit back into," Sebastian looked very uncomfortable. He sounded like Mercedes doubting whether or not she should stay a virgin until marriage or let loose and hook up with Sam Evans.

"Okay," Kurt was convinced. He just realised that he was starving! He… hadn't eaten since breakfast—and Sebastian _slept_ through breakfast. "Sebastian… uh… are you hungry?" He nodded off to the smoothie.

Sebastian nodded his head. "Yeah," he paused. "I'm hungry."

Kurt felt like a dick. How could he forgot to feed the one guy that actually needed to eat all the time? He didn't think Sebastian would _say_ that he was hungry. "We can eat and go, okay?" Sebastian nodded his head. Kurt was sure that he messed up by asking Sebastian to shop with him, but he really didn't know why.


	38. Chapter 38

_this is a double update. i've been writing a lot during the break it seems. but i go back to hospital tomorrow. fortunately, i still am a few chapters ahead._

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Thirty-Eight

* * *

Blaine was supposed to meet up with Kurt, Mercedes and Sebastian for lunch at Breadstix. But Sebastian looked close to a mental breakdown when they fried his fish instead of grilling it, so they came back to Kurt's house.

Now, they were ordering a pizza and Sebastian was eating one he made at home with whole-wheat crust.

When Blaine dug into his slice of pepperoni, he tried to ignore the fact that he noticed that there were little burn marks on the side of his neck too, and a tiny little black _T_ tattooed next to his right ear. He didn't say anything about it.

When Blaine dug into his slice of pepperoni, he remembered the messages that Kurt sent him about Sebastian's house.

 _I'd rather sleep with a ninety-year-old grandma than live that house_ , Kurt… passionately sent. _That's WITHOUT lube!_

Blaine remembered Kurt complaining about having to keep the house overflowing with more vegetables than a garden, just so that Sebastian would have something to eat whenever he wanted it. They had five bags of pasta, all of them containing wild variations of wheat for the wheat-intolerant Sebastian. He refused to eat anything white other than dick juice—which was apparently nutritious according to an article Blaine read before. They had enough superfoods stocked in the house to get them through a nuclear explosion. Every day, Carole bought more and more. Now, they probably had enough protein bars to feed every steroid user in America.

Sebastian leaned his head back against Blaine's legs when they were watching TV. He looked comfortable.

There were enough flowers in this house to make McKinley's homecoming dance look boring. Sebastian had probably been seriously spoiled over the last few weeks since he came back from the hospital, and he really deserved it.

Blaine thought back to all the unnecessary drama that happened in the last few months. He really wanted to somehow make it up to Sebastian. He felt bad about being such a lousy friend. Okay. Sebastian wasn't _exactly_ the best friend that he ever wanted to have—just as Blaine was crappy to Sebastian for a while, Sebastian was pretty crappy back to him. He invaded his personal space pretty much every day, _and_ he nearly blinded him that one time out of jealousy.

 _An eye for an eye, Sebastian?_ Blaine remembered sending him as a text pretty much a day after it happened. _Seriously?_

Thinking back to the whole 'is Sebastian _really_ homeless' debate, Blaine felt bad. Because he didn't know he was homeless, but he knew spent a night sleeping his car—which might as well just be _a cardboard box with wheels._ Looking back now, it was _SO_ obvious! Like how-did-I-miss-that-that-slushie-hit-harder-than-I-thought obvious. In one of those photos, Sebastian was sleeping on a mangled sweater, shirtless in an overheated car in the beginning of summer!

Sure, he couldn't ask his parents if Sebastian could stay in the house now, because they knew that he blinded him.

Blaine also knew that the first thing Sebastian would do when he walked into his house was ask his mom why she bothered with a bra and that even him, with a weight lower than Kurt's polls for class president, had a bigger chest.

Also, why else would he be wearing those oversized rags? Blaine had more fashionable curtains at home.

With the chagrin of a fish being eaten by a blood-thirsty cat or an unsuspecting Will Schuester being hit on by an enthusiastic Rachel Berry, Blaine sighed deeply at his slice. He wasn't even hungry anymore. He had more nerves than he did in his exam days. And the hot chocolate that Kurt made was still too hot to drink.

"Sebastian?" Blaine leaned down to see his face. "Are we cool?" he asked softly.

 _Depends_ , Sebastian's voice said in his head. _Are you cool enough to give me a blowjob?_

Sebastian looked up at him. He looked confused and exhausted. "I guess," now, _that_ was as convincing as compliment from Sue Sylvester. "It's been a long day, Blaine. Can we just not talk about it?" that was a whole two sentences that… sounded normal. And he called Blaine by his name, and not _Prince of_ _That's Why They Invented Masturbation_.

"Hey, what happened?" Blaine had been the recipient of many four-am booty calls from a very drunk, weary Sebastian Smythe. He knew when he was in a real mood.

"A bad shopping trip," Kurt admitted, rolling his eyes. "I'm not sure what I did to offend you—"

"You didn't _offend_ me, Princess Peach. That's not what happened," Sebastian snorted, trying to cut his pizza slices apart with his spoon. This was not a normal thing that people did when eating pizza. People also did not put alfalfa sprouts on their pizzas. "So, drop it. Not everything is about you and your delicate snowflake sensibilities."

Kurt placed his plate down, looking at Sebastian solemnly. "No, I won't," he said. "Because you were fine before!"

"Yeah, I know," Sebastian snorted. "But tell me, Oh Leader of the Glitter Revolution, what's the point of me getting some nice clothes at this fucking weight if I'm just supposed to put some weight on? Unless I can… well… you know!"

"Unless you can stay looking like a ghost?" Kurt asked. "That's… that's the most illogical thing I've ever heard!"

Kurt looked at him in disbelief. "Sebastian, your clothes are falling apart. That is the _ONLY_ reason I want you to shop with us. But you… you just manage to contort something as innocent as me caring for your wellbeing into-into—!"

" _HA!_ You think that I developed a fucking eating disorder out of _LOGIC,_ Hummel? _"_ Sebastian asked Kurt seriously, staring at him with hard sea-green eyes. "I'm that guy that wishes that he can get gastric fucking bypass because he's terrified of losing himself in folds of fucking fat! You think that I _think_ like you do? Do you know that when I was a kid, I was so fat I didn't even know where to stab myself with my own fucking _insulin pen?"_

Kurt's ears went pink. "Sebastian, why don't you just tell people _that_ instead of playing this stupid game?"

Sebastian just shrugged. "What do you want me to tell you? Hi, _I'm scared of gaining weight?_ Seriously? That's like the guy that's depressed having to remind people that he feels sad watching TV shows about suicide!"

To be fair, Blaine got depressed clothes shopping. Everything he tried on made him like a hobbit with a bad hair day. He couldn't even imagine how he'd feel like if he had an eating disorder and tried to try on a pair of pants.

Blaine didn't know what he was feeling. Maybe it was indigestion from the pepperoni. " _Insulin?_ You're… a diabetic?"

"He used to be," Kurt replied. Blaine wondered how he didn't know this! "Lena told me when she came to visit."

"Yeah," Sebastian said in a whisper. "I was a sweet fucking kid! A vampire could have me for dessert."

Blaine remembered looking at the old photos of Sebastian in the _BUMU_ Facebook group—wondering where he could find his features buried in more butter than a dozen croissants. He didn't have cheekbones, or a jawline. _Sebastian. Seabass. Chin. Chin. Chin._ Even his name implied he only had _one_ chin, not five.

"Yeah," Mercedes shook her head. Blaine recalled the comparison post. "And we actually believed that you lost a hundred-and-something pounds in a flash _without_ starving yourself? It's been a bad year. With all that time the _BUMU_ Facebook page spent taking pictures of us in the Lima Bean, you'd think all that caffeine would've helped!"

"With _all that sex-for-cardio?_ Maybe I could've lost it eating—…eating _dick!"_ Sebastian smirked. " _HA!"_

Blaine tried to digest what was going on. Well, the part that _didn't_ involve cloudy cock cocktails.

 _Diabetic?_ No wonder Sebastian had such a complex about being overweight! He probably freaked out and ran ten miles a day after eating out in the weekend, even _before_ he developed his eating disorder. In no time, he probably went from looking like he was one step away from clogging all his coronaries to having less fat than an apple. And was there really a time where Blaine really believe that Sebastian Smythe managed to cut that much fat without trying to play with a double-edged knife? Besides, even before he got sick, Blaine was sure that a gust of wind could've carried him!

Blaine placed a hand on Sebastian's shoulder. Sebastian looked up at him, and he actually smiled. A real kind of smile that someone gave to someone that he actually saw as a friend. Or in Sebastian's case, a nice-looking piece of ass.

"Sebastian, uh…" Blaine didn't feel this nervous since he asked out that guy to Sadie Hawkins. "We're _friends_ , right?"

"Everyone's my fucking friend," Sebastian just smirked. "With the amount of meds I'm on? I'm practically stoned."

Blaine almost felt the need to ask Sebastian if he took anything for the fact that he seemed as depressed as Eeyore. Well… if Eeyore went on a decade-old strict diet that made Christopher Robin's skinny knees look like _heffalumps_.

"Shut up, you're not," Blaine playfully pushed his shoulder. Sebastian winced, and Blaine hated himself forever now.

Sebastian was still smiling. It was nice to see him, you know, look normal. "I am too." He said. "I—"

 _"IthinkyoushouldgobacktoDalton,"_ Kurt blurted out suddenly. "I think that it's better than you sitting here moping."

Sebastian looked at Kurt, looking like he was wondering if his excessive hairspray use finally killed off his brain cells.

"Are you serious?" Mercedes looked surprised. "I saw the Warblers the other day, and they were telling me they were suffocating under the pile of crap that they had to learn this week!"

Kurt sighed in exasperation. Blaine nibbled on the slice that he really didn't want. "Cedes, I really doubt they're going to be asking Sebastian to prepare a forty-slide presentation _after_ he spent a month breathing out of a tube!"

"Depends," Sebastian smirked. "Is the forty-slide presentation about spending a month breathing out of a tube?"

Blaine doubted Sebastian remembered most of that. He was so out of that that when the doctors pricked him with a giant soul-sucking needle, he barely moved. In reference to their Michael matches, Michael Jackson himself would be deadly jealous about the amount of Propofol that Sebastian had been drugged with in the ICU.

"Ha ha," Kurt faked laughing. "Sebastian, go back to Dalton. _Please_. And stop watering Carole's weeds."

Blaine could not imagine Sebastian watering any weeds. Smoking some was another story!

"Fine," Sebastian replied, eating the last slice of his pizza. Pieces of roasted eggplant was falling everywhere. "But _someone's_ got to drive me there and back because I'm not going to walk fifteen miles on crutches."

"Trent could probably drive you," Blaine mentioned softly. "Uh… you two should _really_ work past that Dave issue."

"Fine," Sebastian said. He had the excitement of Puck at remaining celibate forever. "But it's _his_ issue, not mine."

The funny thing was that that was exactly what _Trent_ said about _Sebastian!_ Blaine sighed deeply. Kurt told him that Dave and Trent were no longer an item, but he didn't want to tell Sebastian that. Like he wanted to start _another_ Warbler feud between Sebastian and Trent. Blaine just didn't know why those two couldn't get along! But Blaine guessed that it was like trying to mix sweet, sweet, gentle water and highly combustible booze.

And because it was each other's each issue's and also simultaneously _not_ each other's issues, Blaine found himself carpooling with Sebastian and Trent on his first day back to Dalton. Blaine skipped school to do this.

Most people that skipped school spent the day watching cartoons and eating soup, _not_ trying to prevent a bird fight.

But Blaine was pleasantly surprised. Trent was quiet, and Sebastian didn't complain about Trent's car— _much_. Even though Sebastian drove a vehicle of death. Though even in his new Dalton uniform that showed off his very fashionable sunken cheeks and hollow eyes, Sebastian had to wrap himself in three layers of blankets because Trent's car was cold. If something was cold for Blaine, it might as well be sub-zero for Salad Supporter Sebastian.

Besides "hey", Trent hadn't really said anything. But five minutes after they started driving, they were at the stop-light near the Lima Bean. Trent looked over at Sebastian with a compassionate look to his face, "Do you want coffee?"

Sebastian shook his head, still buried under Grandma's Finest.

"You look sort of cold," Trent said. Sebastian did not look _sort of cold_. He looked like he was stiffer than a corpse in a coffin. Blaine was pretty sure that Sebastian now had permanent blue balls.

"Yeah," Sebastian nodded his head. Trent unzipped his blazer, and then offered it to him.

"Do you like hot chocolate?" Trent asked. Blaine wanted to tell him that Sebastian didn't eat liquid sugar in fear of having to amputate his foot off from complications of being a glutton mutton, but he didn't say anything.

"Yeah," Sebastian replied. "I like marshmallows," he also said.

Blaine didn't know what happened there. He thought that Sebastian might be lethally hypothermic, and he might require rescuitation before he went to Dalton. He also thought that maybe Sebastian just wanted to be _nice_ to Trent. Was that possible? Did Sebastian sort of _want_ to be nice to other people without wanting to use them?

"Okay," Trent drove over there after the stop-light went green. "I'll get one for you too, Blaine."

After parking in the near-empty parking lot, Trent got up from the car and walked to the Lima Bean. Sebastian was staring outside. He probably forgot how outside looked like since he'd been living under a rock the past month.

Blaine and Sebastian were the only ones in the car. Blaine looked back to see how blue Sebastian's ears were.

"That's pretty nice," Sebastian finally said, moving to place a hand on his knee. He looked like he was drawing in Trent's blazer, and Trent was not that big. "Too bad that I swapped his water for vodka."

Blaine rolled his eyes _. "Sebastian!"_ he yelled, and swapped Trent's water bottle for his. "Are you serious?"

 _"What?"_ Sebastian rolled his eyes. " _I_ didn't know he was going to be fucking nice to me! I thought he was going to fucking let me walk there on my crutches—I didn't know he was getting me fucking marshmallows!"

"You're unbelievable!" Blaine stuffed the water bottle in his bag. "People are trying to help you… _not_ poison you!"

"I guess," Sebastian replied. Which was better than his usual backlash of how everyone could go suck his dick, because Dalton somehow ignored the fact that they didn't make running shorts in size I-only-eat-rice-cakes.

Blaine relaxed into his seat. "We're sorry about what happened to you," he said. "But it's no excuse to act like a dick."

"I _am_ a dick," Sebastian replied. "You're _not_ going to unearth a nice, sad victim out of me, Gaylord after all this is over. I'm still going to be the same fucking person whether you like it or not. So, get over it."

Trent returned, looking flushed with hot chocolates for pretty much everyone. A few sips of one hot chocolate later, Sebastian looked pinker. It just dawned on Blaine that this must be like the carrot cake frappuccino incident. Why would Sebastian feel _faint_ anyway when Kurt confirmed that he saw him eat five buckwheat pancakes that morning?

"Are you nervous?" Blaine finally realised. He probably wanted the mallows to _mellow out!_

Sebastian rolled his shiny green eyes. "What do you think?" he replied acerbically. "The whole fucking school _changed_ because they didn't know that my mother kicking me out of the fucking house. Everyone and their fucking grandmas probably want to ask me _QUESTIONS_. Questions that _I_ should be charging ten dollars a pop for!"

Blaine was sure that this was Sebastian Speak for _I don't wanna answer anyone's questions about my sensitive information._

Trent seemed to get that memo too. "Do… you wanna stay in my dorm?" Trent offered softly. "I don't have a roommate, and I still have some of your stuff from last time. If you don't wanna go to the first class."

"It's fucking calculus, isn't it?" Sebastian looked like he wanted to laugh. Trent went red. _"Great!"_

Blaine didn't know how Sebastian's luck turned out like that. He made a mental note to read Sebastian's horoscope just to see if the stars aligned to fuck him over. You know… when he found out when Sebastian's birthday was.

 _"There's a NEW counsellor in Dalton!"_ Trent suddenly remembered. "Uh… they probably want to see you first!"

"Great," Sebastian looked as inspired as Mike Chang was to sing. "I couldn't be anymore fucking ecstatic!"

Blaine's heart hammered into his chest when Trent neared Dalton. Usually, he felt a pang of nostalgia, but now, he was shocked. There were camera people there for once, surrounding everything like a virus causing an epidemic. Sebastian sunk into Trent's car the second that he saw some old lady in very colourful pantyhose (did people even wear those past the preteen years? Seriously?) whizzed past Trent's car. Her papers were flying everywhere.

"I know it's a little crowded," Trent said softly. Blaine was horrified. "But… uh… they're not in the classes. And they're only there to talk to teachers about _the changes_ , since it's still a big thing. You just came out of the hospital like a few weeks ago, and there's the whole thing with your dad's trial. It's still big news, so that's why they're—"

 _"Takemehome,"_ Sebastian blurted out all of a sudden. Bits of hot chocolate was spilling from his hand. _"NOW!"_

Blaine looked back to see Sebastian. He looked somewhere between a mix of terrified and pissed.

" _It's going to be OKAY!"_ Trent squeaked out. "I'll be with you all day. Uh… really! _I_ didn't even tell the Warblers yet, but if you want me to, we can hide you from the reporters! You won't have to talk to anyone!"

"Hide me? You want me to _run away_ from them?!" Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "I'm in fucking _CRUTCHES!"_

Blaine sort of wished that he didn't swipe Trent's drink. But he also thought Sebastian needed to go to Dalton too.

"You can't stay home forever! It's not good for you!" Trent tried to encourage him. " _THEY_ don't bite! I swear!"

"They ain't asking you about _YOUR_ fucking family!" Sebastian spat back. He was sweating and panting heavily now. "They ain't going to be asking you about what you think about your father's _STUPID FUCKING TRIAL!_ "

Sebastian collapsed back into the seat, powerless as Trent turned off the engine. He pocketed his keys away.

"This is for your own good," Trent said to him seriously. "I'm sorry, Sebastian."


	39. Chapter 39

_this is a double update. i've been writing a lot during the break it seems. but i go back to hospital tomorrow. fortunately, i still am a few chapters ahead. i don't know how long this is going to continue or if it'll be a trend.  
_

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Thirty-Nine

* * *

When Trent turned off the engine, they stayed in the car for a little while. Maybe about an hour a while.

Sebastian didn't think he'd ever be in the back of a car with Trent fucking Dixon _and_ Blaine Anderson. He wished he could say he was giving one head and being fucked by the other one at the sexual hour of eight am, but instead, he was sharing body heat with Dixon and Blaine Anderson's seventy-style hairdo like they were freezing Beyond the Wall.

"Hey," Trent said after about ten minutes of silence. "Hey, Sebastian?" his voice was so soft.

"Yeah?" Sebastian looked at Trent's face. "What is it, Dixon? Do you feel _gay?_ Because I feel fucking gay."

Sebastian was pretty sure sucking cock was less gay than what they were doing. Sebastian was freezing, but he didn't know what those two princesses' excuses were for snuggling up to him. Repressed sexual tension? Huh. If they wanted some warmth, they should go back to the fucking closet. Sebastian bet they were plenty of coats there!

"No… um… I mean I guess?" Trent rubbed his neck, before he relaxed. "What are you scared about?"

"I'm not _SCARED!"_ Sebastian slid further into the blanket. "But I ain't fucking ecstatic about having a million people just dying to ask me questions about how it felt like to have your own piss bag for a while month."

"You don't even have to talk to _any_ of them," Trent finally said. He sounded like he was trying to con a guy into going to a wedding where he once humped the bride. _If_ there were reporters at that wedding. And if Sebastian was famous because his latest artistic adventure ended up being a flop. "I promise."

"Really?" Sebastian rolled his eyes. "What if they take pictures of my body? _I_ ain't exactly going anywhere fast."

"And talk about what?" Blaine asked softly. "How much weight you've put on?" he said mockingly.

Sebastian was more surprised to hear this. "Ten pounds," he answered seriously. "What are _you_ two looking at?"

Blaine and Trent stared at him like he'd just admitted that he'd been sleeping with the principal. Gross.

"Where?" Trent asked, looking at Sebastian's body critically. " _Where_ did you put on ten pounds?"

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Ha _ha_ ," he crossed his arms. Truth be told even Sebastian had a hard time figuring it out. His clothes were finally fitting him, the loose size extra-smalls. And yesterday they'd gotten a little tight—it freaked him out for the duration of eight hours. And maybe this morning too. He also considered uploading his profile online for guys that liked to bone other guys that had more flab than ab. "Shut up, Dixon. Don't insult me _or_ my effort."

Blaine nodded his head. "You're doing really great," he finally said. "Do you… need any help?"

Sebastian just stared at Blaine. "Yeah, chewing is really hard," he said. "Can you do it for me instead?"

Trent playfully pushed him by his shoulder, and Sebastian glared at him. But his annoyance immediately melted into a smile. He even rested his head on Trent Dixon's shoulder, which he wouldn't have done before no matter who was twisting his testicles. Trent placed a hand on Sebastian's waist, and pulled him close to him.

"You're not so bad," Trent finally said. "You know, once you've been taking serious painkillers for a month."

"Speak for your fucking self, Dixon," Sebastian mumbled. "I hate you _AND_ your fancy new car is fucking crap."

It took maybe three seconds for Sebastian to be assaulted by some skinny reporters that smeared her lipstick on with the artful knack of a three-year-old. Sebastian could do his face make-up better with his arm split in half… literally. But seriously, he hadn't even walked into the school yet and he was already asked questions.

Trent and Blaine were guarding him, which looked pathetic. A fat, white kid and Curly Locks de Gay! Perfect!

Sebastian didn't really mind most of them. He didn't answer any of them, but he relaxed when nobody asked him why his dad had maggots into his fettuccine alfredo and more about if he ever thought that his daddy ever loved him.

But getting assaulted in the middle of the hallway by twelve reporters when he was trying to get to his Chemistry class. Sebastian tried to ignore the fact that he couldn't bolt because he was on crutches, trying to pretend like he was smart enough to take weed before he came here. Curly and Chubby got lost into the cascade of reporters like two steps ago.

Did you know how hard it was to walk with crutches when you were assaulted by writing pads and microphones?

Sebastian would rather die of heart disease because he had short hallways and a sedentary lifestyle than try to find a way to hurry down a hallway that was longer than the fucking track he used to run in! Why was the hallway so long? Or was he really moving _that slow?_ Sebastian couldn't even fix his fucking tie without help. _WHAT_ was he doing here?

"Is it true that your mother filed a divorce because of domestic abuse? Why did this only come to light now?"

Jeez. If someone was punching you in the face since you were a kid, lady, do you really want people to know? Especially when you were scared of the question: _why didn't you punch back, you three-hundred-pound hambeast?_

"Can you please leave me alone?" Sebastian mumbled in irritation.

"What do you think will happen in your father's trial? Do you think you'll get justice?"

Sebastian had no idea that his job now was to see the future _AND_ defend himself against his father. "Go away."

"Are you going to be speaking in the trial?" this was the stupidest one he'd heard thus far.

That one Sebastian could answer. "No," Sebastian muttered. No, he had to see the future and defend himself in court in front of thousands of people and a TV crew! Yeah. That was exactly what he wanted. "Go away. I have _CLASS!"_

From track field runner to slower than a dead turtle in a field of fucking quicksand! And why wasn't anyone carrying him to his classes if he was so light that he looked like he might drop dead?

"Sebastian?" Nate was speeding towards him. "Sebastian, what are you doing in school?" he finally asked.

 _"I have class,"_ Sebastian wished he got a dime for every time he'd said that. He bet he'd be able to buy a latte.

Nate looked shocked. "Are you serious?" he finally said. "You were in the _Intensive fucking Care_ two months ago!"

"Leave me alone, Nate," Sebastian said. He was so tired of saying it, and his voice was shaking. He just wanted to go to his classes and get rid of the day. Still, he didn't know why the fuck he had to do this when his dad broke his leg.

Nate shook his head. " _KURT_ made you do this?" he asked, and Sebastian felt tired of walking. "What the fuck is he on? If he broke his leg and someone told him to go to school, I bet that he'd fucking tell them off."

Nate's Dalton clothes were covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Funny. Sebastian was freezing to death.

"Mr Smythe!" another one of those ten million reporters walked even slower than him. He had crutches. What were their excuses? Five-inch heels? Why was it that it was only the women that couldn't leave him alone? "Did you read the most recent article in your own school news report, Dalton Daily, about your weight struggles?"

 _My weight struggles!_ Sebastian thought. _Who in Dalton knows any fucking thing about my WEIGHT STRUGGLES?_

"Don't read the Dalton Daily," Nate finally said. "How about I just take you home, okay? I don't mind skipping to drive you back home. You need to stop anywhere before? Cause you don't look so good just walking down the—"

Seeing he almost made it to class—ten minutes late _HA_ , he heard one of the reporters say one thing that actually made him— _HIM_ , who probably walked on crutches more than he walked on his actual feet— _TRIP_. Flat on his face!

 _"SEBASTIAN!"_ Nate shrieked, lunging for the skinny guy that lost control of his crutches. _"UGH! FUCK!"_

Nate tried to catch him, but Sebastian fell on his leg and he felt an excruciating pain. _"OW!"_ Sebastian yelled. _"Fuck!"_

 _I thought you'd look thinner in real life_ , that was what the reporter said. Yeah seriously. She said that. _I thought you'd look thinner._ Sebastian didn't think Nate could help him up without getting a fucking forklift to help him out now! Great.

Sebastian felt his blood boiling. Then he felt completely devastated. Why would anyone say that to him?

 _I thought you'd look thinner in real life_. Sebastian thought he looked _FATFATFAT_ in the pictures the magazines took. So, if he looked even bigger in real life than he did in the pictures, he must be the size of a fucking elephant.

"Are you okay?" Nate finally said, as some of the other reporters tried to touch him. As if they'd heal him with their magic touch. "Are you okay, Sebastian? _Shitshitshit_. Do you need anything… um? Do you?"

Trent and Blaine bolted towards him, looking so pale they both could've auditioned in the Phantom of the Opera.

"What happened?" Blaine said, and Nate looked like he was thinking of committing a felony. "How'd he fall?"

"What did you say about me?" Sebastian suddenly snap back, looking animalistic. That reporter was the size of a fucking hog, and she tried to tell him that she thought _HE'D_ look thinner! But Sebastian couldn't even try to stand up, in fear of falling off the world from how fat he felt. "What the _FUCK_ did you say about me?!"

"What?" Trent looked confused momentarily. "Someone said something? _What did they say?"_ he sounded pissed.

As Sebastian breathed in deeply, Nate rubbed his back. "Sebastian, who said what?" he looked fuming. _"Seb?"_

"Whatever," Sebastian said in irritation. "Can I go home now? I'm sick of walking." His arms and shoulders hurt.

Nate actually managed to pick him up—he was a six-foot-two tall guy. It didn't matter if Sebastian was featherweight, because Nate was about five-foot-ten. Three inches made the fucking difference. Three inches made someone go from average to having a monster cock that should be left for the experts like himself.

Blaine grabbed his feet and helped him up, and Sebastian tried to pretend like people weren't taking pictures.

Sebastian was absolutely humiliated, as he tried to look away from the camera. He couldn't help that he was fucking tall that people had to carry him. Sebastian always liked his height, but when it came to stuff like this, he wished that he was like five-foot-two and eighty pounds. Nobody was going to have trouble lifting him then, right? _Disgusting_.

"Can you _STOP_ doing that?" Nate said to the gaggle of reporters hanging onto them to take pictures.

Did Sebastian really leave that death trap house just to be paraded around like a fucking prized hog for pictures?

Nate was pissed. It was almost like he heard what that lady said. But Sebastian was pretty damn sure he didn't, because he probably would've socked his first chick he saw if he did.

Sebastian was trying not to fucking lose it, because he was so, so humiliated. How bad was it when you had to have two people carrying you over to a car and some reporters following you around like there was something wrong with you? Sebastian just wished he could fucking disappear. He'd rather be in France—running around the school hallways naked at three hundred pounds, because at least, nobody was taking _pictures_ of it, right?

Why did Dalton let _reporters_ be around? Sure, they couldn't have known Sebastian would be here but… he felt sick.

He felt like such a fucking burden when nobody could find out how to help him into the back seat. And when they just shoved him inside and he banged his head against the door, Sebastian felt his heart ache. He was too fucking tall for their car, so they had to try and manipulate him without twisting or crossing his leg. He might've actually unscrewed the plates and screws in his fucking femur fracture. That was great. He felt like he did when he was three hundred pounds and the teach had to call in _special reinforcements_ to get him home because he fell on his broken hip. The pure fucking _shame_ was worse than any pain that he could ever feel.

Sebastian turned to his side, burying his head into his hands and trying not to cry.

Blaine got into the front seat with Nate, who looked like he was red in the face. Trent looked at Sebastian like he wanted to say something, but he didn't know what to say.

"Um…" Trent cleared his throat. "I hope you feel better, Sebastian."

 _I hope you feel better? HA._ Sebastian hoped he shattered his leg and couldn't go to school. Ever. "Thanks," he mumbled.

"What _ASSHOLE_ decided that Sebastian should go to school?" Nate asked Blaine. He was driving like a maniac—by _Sebastian's_ standards. "Seriously? He was on the cusp of fucking life for a whole month, and some asshole decides that he should probably focus on doing his fucking calculus homework? Blaine, I know you didn't see where he was living for three months but if this was Kurt's idea, I'd be fucking livid. But seriously… _what the fuck?"_

Blaine looked back at Sebastian. "Are you cold?" he said, unzipping his jacket and putting it on top of Sebastian.

Nate glanced at him every now and then. "Seb?" Nate's voice softened. "Are you okay?"

He didn't say anything. Sebastian just wanted to go home and die. He didn't know why he bothered eating so much.

"Yeah, just tired," Sebastian replied, feigning a yawn. "Ain't used to waking up at the crack of ass anymore."

Just to further his humiliation, he had to be _WHEELED INTO_ the fucking emergency room. Wheeled in. Sebastian felt sick to his stomach because he was just wasting everyone's time if he couldn't even walk there by himself. Seriously? Wheels? Did Sebastian look like he needed wheels? The docs that had to do his nine-million operations. When he was waiting, the poor docs had to apologise for the long wait because there was some guy having a _STROKE_.

Sebastian just stayed quiet when the doctor told the nurses there to take off his cast. They took an x-ray, and then they decided that fortunately, everything was fine. They put a cast on him again and told him he was free to go home.

During this time, Sebastian stayed quiet—even when Blaine accidentally tripped on him and crushed his ribs.

"Hey," Paul Karofsky wandered towards him, and Sebastian tried to not look at him. "How are you doing?"

Sebastian nodded his head and said that he was okay. "I don't feel so hot," Sebastian said, rubbing his sea-green eyes.

Paul nodded his head. "You don't look great either, Sebastian," he said, and Sebastian didn't even snort or bother to remind him that he looked great for a guy that was admitted on suspicion of shattering his leg. "Sebastian, your friends told me that there was an incident with a reporter at school. This surprised me for numerous occasions. Because as far as I know, you chose _not_ to attend school this semester… in fact, our last appointment was related to the fact that you believed that you could literally die of boredom. And I _did_ tell you that if you were considering returning to school that you should talk to me, so we can discuss if this is the best decision for you."

"To be fair," Blaine was standing on the other side of him. "He _did_ tell Trent that he didn't want to go when he saw that many reporters… he ignored him because he thought it would be good for Sebastian to confront it."

Paul looked at Blaine like he just started spewing out Klingon. "Trent is _not_ his doctor," he said. "I am."

Ouch. Another shot back at Trent Dixon. Maybe his chances of getting hooked back up with Dave was slim, considering the fact that even his dad wasn't impressed with him no more.

Knowing that didn't make him feel any better. _Why bother?_ Sebastian thought. _It wasn't like Dave actually liked you._

"Yes, sir," Blaine replied softly. "I'm sure it won't happen again," he said, like it _CHANGED_ what happened.

"Why don't you tell me what happened?" Paul asked, sitting right next to him. Like he actually believed that Sebastian was going to tell him that it was humiliating having to be carried out by two guys, and that the fat kid couldn't ride with them over here because Sebastian was too big. He knew it was his height, but it made him feel heavier than he'd ever felt before. Like he could feel a life-long supply of java chip frappuccinos come up his throat.

"Nope," Sebastian replied. "I don't wanna talk about anything, doc. So, I'm sorry you walked all the way over here."

Why did he wanna hear it so bad anyway? He bet a thousand magazines was going to talk about it tomorrow.

"It's okay," Blaine said to him, and Sebastian felt even more humiliated. Because Blaine was cooing to him like he was fucking three years old, and he didn't get nothing… Sebastian felt embarrassed. "You can talk, you know?"

Sebastian thought that he was playing with him. "I don't wanna talk about it, so just leave it."

Paul looked at him with a soft expression. "Would you prefer to talk about it if we're alone?" he offered.

 _"I. DON'T. WANT. TO. TALK. ABOUT. IT,"_ Sebastian enunciated every word so loudly he felt his body shake.

"Okay, okay, it's okay," Paul replied. Sebastian didn't know why he needed a psychiatrist anymore. He didn't feel like he deserved it. What did he do to deserve a psychiatrist? His dad wasn't hitting him anymore. There was literally no fucking need for him to see anybody. "But I'm going to talk to you about this in our next appointment…"

Next appointment? Yeah right. Sebastian just stared at his hip—soft sea-green eyes fixated on the body he hated.

Before Paul left, Sebastian felt a tingle down his spine. Sebastian's nipples stiffened, because you know, it was cold, not because he was attracted to the Finest Guy with Arthritis. He had to just say _something_ about…

"How is Dave?" Sebastian asked softly. "Cause I ain't seen him in… I ain't been seeing him."

Sebastian felt like such a loser. He was pretty sure Paul thought that he was obsessed with his kid.

"It's just…" Sebastian explained, rubbing his neck. He was such a pathetic freak. "It's been a while."

Sebastian was sure that Blaine was just sitting there, thinking of how pathetic he was that he flip-flopped from him to Dave. And as desperate he was with Blaine, he sounded _even more_ desperate with Dave. You know how hard Sebastian must've worked to sound more desperate? Blaine should've probably given him a fucking trophy.

"I'll talk to him," Paul said, and Sebastian nodded his head.

"Thanks," but inside, he was screaming. Because how desperate did you have to be to tell your doctor that you wanted his son to text him up? Sebastian sighed deeply. What a loser. At least Lady Gay could get a date.

By the time that he got home, he practically resolved to never come out of the basement. Ever.

The first thing he did was choke a great amount of painkillers just to get rid of the throbbing in his leg and head. Weirdly enough, the docs didn't got much of a problem with giving him any strong stuff. After the first x-ray he took, they discharged Sebastian with enough painkillers to start a drug ring. He hadn't been taking as much as he should've—but right now, his leg hurt so much that he couldn't even think about nothing.

Kurt walked downstairs, and Sebastian was so out of it because of the amount of painkillers he took that he almost thought that he looked _good_. Sebastian turned to the side and tried not to look at Kurt's face.

"Hey," Kurt crouched down to the ground, his hand on the cold ground. "Are you okay?"

Sebastian just stared vacantly back at Kurt's face. Him and his stupid pretty hat, and his stupid pretty fucking bag. Was he seriously jealous of how put-together Kurt Hummel looked like? Did he really descend that far down?

Maybe it was because he was wearing the same pair of sweats for three days. What? It still smelled okay.

Kurt reached forward to place his hand on his thigh, and he quivered underneath the touch.

"Can you please leave me alone?" Sebastian finally asked. He felt even lonelier than when he did when he was living in that whole fucking house. He felt putrid and filthy and disgusting. He couldn't even explain how lowly he thought of himself right then and there. If he cried in front of the overgrown baby in a scarf, he didn't think he'd make it through tonight without slicing his wrist in attempts to kill himself. No, he was _not_ joking.

"Finn says he doesn't mind if he sleeps down here," Kurt said softly. "And I can sleep in Finn's disgusting…"

After shuddering, Kurt shook his head. "You can sleep in my room," he offered, like all Sebastian wanted to do since he got here was lay his ass down on the princess' pillows. "Nate told me off for letting you stay here. It isn't exactly somewhere I'd like to be staying at after… well, if I went through the stuff you'd went through then…"

"It's okay," Sebastian tried to spit it out like an insult, but it was hard to insult someone by saying something was _okay_.

Kurt looked worried, as Sebastian turned to his side. "How much of that stuff did you take?" he asked.

 _"What?"_ Sebastian didn't expect Kurt to be looking at the box of pills that Sebastian had swallowed.

"Get up," Kurt ordered, staring at the pill box. "I'm taking you to the hospital."

"I didn't take much," Sebastian said. He'd been using the same box of pills for a month. He wasn't getting up to go to the hospital when he'd just come back from the fucking hospital. "I ain't going nowhere," he was already half-asleep.

He was even more humiliated having to go back to the hospital just an hour after he came back to the house. Sebastian was so exhausted that he didn't even know how to stay awake enough for some doc to come and examine him. When Kurt mentioned that Sebastian was sleepy after taking the pills, the doc looked pretty pissed off since the pills were supposed to make you sleepy anyway. Sebastian didn't overdose on the pills no matter what Kurt Hummel fucking said to the doctor, but he wished that he did so he wouldn't have to be sitting here, listening to this bullshit.

They kept Sebastian in the ED for a few hours. Because he didn't puke any pills and didn't look like he was completely out of it, they discharged him just a few minutes later. Apparently, it was a fucking crime to take his pain pills now!

Kurt was red in the face. "Oh," he said to Sebastian. The car ride was mostly silent. "I guess that… I was wrong."

Sebastian tried not to fall asleep in the car, because he didn't want Kurt Hummel to get someone else to carry him to the basement. Like Kurt fucking Hummel could carry him, Mr Fatty McLard, down to the basement without help.


	40. Chapter 40

**Eat Your Words**

Chapter Forty

* * *

 _"Burt?"_ Sebastian's voice was softer than ice-cream left to defrost in the microwave. He wasn't so used to Burt coming down to the basement, especially not with his nostrils flaring and looking like he was going to need a bypass.

Burt closed his eyes as hard as he could, his hands were visibly shaking. "Get up, kid," he ordered coldly.

"Sure. Uh… uh… my name is Sebastian," Sebastian said softly, wondering if this guy even knew anything about this guy that was living in the basement for the past few weeks—besides the fact that he smoked pot.

He was scared of guys like Burt. Guys that… that you know, cared about their kid and knew you tried to hurt them.

"I call you _KID_ because you weigh as much as a fucking child," Burt looked at him with hard blue eyes. "Got it?"

"Yeah, sir," Sebastian whispered, and he knew he screwed up. He knew he screwed up yesterday when he was lying flat on the bed, and it hurt to sleep on his side because he felt like he didn't got anything soft to sleep on. He felt _bad_.

Paul Karofsky was away for a whole month, checking out colleges out with Dave, you know?

 _What?_ Sebastian told himself. _So, you didn't got nobody to talk to, so that's why you decided to fucking give up completely?_

"I'm driving you to your appointment with Paul Karofsky," Burt said, and Sebastian knew that was a pretty big deal. Because Burt worked at this time. Sebastian was sure he didn't wanna trust the six-foot-three moron of a step-brother that Kurt had for anything. "You need to be fucking sanctioned in a hospital. Because this isn't a joke, kid. This is your life that you're throwing away. What do you even get from not eating?"

Sebastian couldn't answer any of those questions. "I'm sorry," he whispered. _I'm sick, man. Please give me a break._

"Sure," Burt didn't believe him. Sebastian was sure that Burt thought Sebastian just had some big temper tantrum.

"What else do you want me to say?" Sebastian honestly said, but Burt just stared at him vacantly.

It had been a month since that day at Dalton. And… he guessed he lost a _little_ weight, okay? Maybe it was all the ten pounds that he put. Maybe he lost a little bit more after that? Yeah, maybe just a little because nothing fit. Everything was try-to-put-it-on-end-up-on-the-floor clothes. Because he was too thin for his regular clothes.

 _A little weight?_ Sebastian thought. _You lie awake at night, hoping that you don't DIE before going out on a REAL date!_

Okay. Maybe his heart beat sort of funny sometimes, and he felt like he was going to die? Yeah, sometimes.

That day in Dalton, just hearing that reporter say something like that to him and that humiliation just made him not wanna eat that day. So, he didn't eat much that day. At dinner—which the Hummel household had all together, Sebastian picked at the mozzarella-stuffed chicken breast. He had two pieces, but he ate a quarter of one, followed by maybe three mouthfuls of mashed potatoes. He ate all his broccoli, so at least he wasn't going to get colon cancer, but… uh, _not_ eating was probably going to kill him first. He cut his slice of honey cake in half and ate most of that.

 _It doesn't sound so bad,_ he said in his head afterwards. _Right? It wasn't so bad_ … A part of him was fighting on how he should be trying to count how many chins he sprouted after that one meal, and the other part was fighting about how he was going to kill himself from being lower in fat than a fucking saltine cracker.

The thoughts came back in a day. He went from eating three sandwiches to thinking if it was necessary to eat just one.

Sebastian barely slept that night. He tossed and turned, pinching his fat until it was red. _You ain't well_ , he told himself.

He hated this. He hated that people gave him this fucking eating disorder. Sebastian wasn't like this before, but now, he was just lying in bed, chewing himself out for what he ate. All he could think about was food. He had other hobbies, but somehow, he hadn't thought about lacrosse or the Warblers or _anything_ in a while. All he could think about was how he could still taste the fatty avocado he had for breakfast a week ago instead of his egg-white omelette.

The next day, he went upstairs to get this giant cookie, right? To eat for breakfast.

 _Yeah, you really want to aspire to be the thinnest corpse people ever fucking saw? How fucking pathetic!_ Sebastian kept telling himself, when his hands were shaking. He was about to get into the kitchen. _You ain't well, princess. You ain't._

But when he went downstairs, he heard Kurt fucking Hummel tell his stepbrother that those cookies were like four hundred calories a pop. Sebastian had never felt so nauseous… apart from trying to imagine Gay Face naked.

"How could you even accept that many calories for _a_ _cookie?"_ Kurt asked him, analysing the nutritional information. Sebastian thought it was a fucking joke because Kurt was even holding his favourite flavour cookie. He was the kind to scarf snickerdoodles. "It's just unnecessary. Who would need to eat a four-hundred calorie cookie?"

 _You do,_ Sebastian tried to tell himself. _You need to eat cookies, okay? You're a fucking skeleton._

The other part of his brain was screaming at him, blocking out the sweet, mother-like whisper of recovery: _YOU don't have a problem. And the more you convince yourself that you do, you're going to end up FAT and alone and fucking miserable!_

Sebastian was already alone and miserable. He didn't wanna be fat too. His thinness was probably the only real attractive quality he even had at this fucking point since his personality wasn't cutting it.

Feeling deflated (or rather—inflated… _HA_. Get it? Because he felt like the fattest pig in the fucking world) and triggered, Sebastian disappeared downstairs. But Kurt Hummel was right for once. What kind of fakorexic wanted to eat a fucking _four hundred calorie cookie?_ Just thinking about eating it made him feel bad. He felt even worse than he did when he nearly blinded Blaine! He felt deplorable, like he should be sent to eating disorder jail for thinking of eating it.

Sebastian was obsessed with eating that cookie. All he could think about was eating that cookie. He didn't eat anything else that day… but suddenly, it was three in the morning. He was starving and in pain.

And his heart was doing these weird things in his chest. He was anxious, and he _inhaled_ _THREE_ cookies with his painkillers.

Then he cried and beat his body until he was purple and blue. He couldn't even begin to explain how disgusting he felt like. If he wasn't sleepy from the pills, he was sure he might've actually attempted to kill himself. He didn't even taste the fucking thing! He hated it. He hated himself. He didn't wanna eat ever again, especially when he just noticed that people stopped sending him flowers! Those stupid fucking flowers! People had _forgotten_ about him.

People stopped flinching when they hugged him. Because they were _used to_ him being thin…

 _How could you gain weight if people don't give a shit about you being 'thin' anymore?_ Sebastian thought. _How could you?_

He tried to call Paul, but he was still out of the country. It went to voice mail. Plus, it was five in the morning.

Sebastian wanted to call Dave, but he didn't want to wake him up. He sent a text message: _Call me when you get this._ Obviously, Dave didn't call him when he got it. Seriously, Sebastian was pretty pathetic chasing after this guy.

As Burt drove them over to the hospital, Sebastian was wearing the jeans that were loose, then fit and then got pretty tight. Right now, Sebastian was literally dissolving into them faster than ice in water. He had managed to lose so much weight in the last month. Yesterday, he just gave up and decided to cut and sew his baggy ass jeans—which he knew meant that he weighed lower than he'd ever weighed in his whole entire life. Sebastian had completed his transformation to the fucking Gollum. He was on a _DIE_ t. He was more bone than a skeleton. And he didn't feel good about it. He knew he was screwed when he was trying to stuff his jeans pockets with the teddy bear stuffing puke to _look fatter_ … that teddy bear the Warblers got him when he was were in the ICU for being a gay glitter punching bag.

Sebastian still didn't think he was anorexic. He was fucking terrified at this weight—didn't anorexics all feel like they were never too thin? Because Sebastian thought he was too thin— _and_ he was a selfish bastard. Burt Hummel took him into his house, and here he was, you know, dreaming of Ex-Lax and vegetable broth.

He just didn't know if he was making it up in his head, you know? If he might not be as thin as he thought he was.

Because every time Sebastian thought he might be bad, he heard stuff like how he was eating four-hundred calorie cookies and a reporter that thought he'd look thinner in real life. He sometimes felt like he was heavier than a hippo on steroids, and sometimes, he felt like he was going to die. Mostly when his heart started beating funny at three am…

When they got to the hospital, Sebastian didn't wanna get out of the car… because Paul Karofsky would be furious.

"Do I have to go…?" Sebastian asked softly, shivering. He was now covered in gross hairy fuzz, and he was still cold. Sebastian didn't wanna ask for a razor just in case people thought he had a mangina.

 _"YOU'RE GOING!"_ Burt looked at him seriously. " _I'M_ afraid you're going to die in my house."

Sebastian nodded his head softly. He was even more afraid that he was going to die in some guy's old basement, at like three in the morning all by himself. "Yeah," he whispered. "I could sometimes feel—"

 _"You're going NOW,"_ Burt cut him off coldly before Sebastian said that thing about his heart. "Okay?"

He felt empty inside, because he was pretty sure that this guy would be treating him way different if he was his kid. Sure, it wasn't like he was Burt Hummel's child—Sebastian was just staying in his basement, but he hated feeling like people were blaming him for everything.

"Okay," Sebastian decided, placing his hands on his thighs and looking away from Burt. "If I was Kurt…"

Burt stared at him like he was crazy, which he was. "I wouldn't let my kid get to this weight."

Sebastian swallowed the lump in his throat. "I know," his voice softened. "But you let me…?"

He rubbed his shoulder and stared down at the ground. "I know I ain't your kid," Sebastian said. "But…" but what was he supposed to do? He didn't have a family anymore. He didn't think. The last time he talked with his mom, they had a fight because she thought that _he was over this already_. Like he could cure himself in a fucking week!

"I don't know who's supposed to take care of me," Sebastian blurted out, and then rubbed his neck.

Burt opened his mouth to say something, but then he didn't. "Fuck," he cursed. Obviously, he didn't think about it like that. Sebastian wondered if it was like… he thought that his mom would just take him back. "Your mom is—"

"She told me that she thought I'd be okay now," Sebastian said very seriously. "Like now that everyone knows I got an eating disorder and I've been talking to someone about it, that… that _it'll fix me_."

"Your mom told me that she just wanted you to cool off," Burt admitted. "I didn't know that I was supposed to—"

"Look, old man," Sebastian felt like he was going to cry. "My mom don't got a say in my fucking life, okay?"

He didn't know why he said what he said but he also added on, "I get it. Your kid's mom was really great. But just because she is don't mean that mine is amazing. And if you were just having me around like a fucking halfway house just before I get back home to her, then I don't know want to stay… you _KNOW_ she _LET_ my dad beat me up, right?"

Sebastian felt like he was screaming into air. _Do you know what HE DID TO ME? Do you know?_

It was like what he said didn't matter. Sebastian just sunk into his seat, his thin hand on his crutches.

"It ain't your decision," Burt said. "You're still a minor." Sebastian just gawked at him with shiny eyes.

"I'm a minor when it's fucking convenient for you?" Sebastian just spat out. "You know I didn't look like this overnight, yeah? You know that it took a while for me? And I did it under _your_ roof. So, you won't let your kid look like me but me, the guy in the fake halfway house, why should you care about me? _I'm_ not your kid."

Sebastian didn't want to get out of the car. "Take me back to my house," he finally said. " _I'm_ not your charity case."

"After your appointment," Burt said. Sebastian just breathed out. He got it. He wasn't this guy's _responsibility_.

"I hope I die in the appointment and that it's _you_ that the fucking police blame," Sebastian said. And he meant it too.

In the hospital, Sebastian knew he was in trouble the second that he stepped on the scales because of that _look_ that the nurse gave him. That _how are you even alive?_ look. Sebastian was even surprised at how low his weight was when he looked down. If he went home, he knew it might get lower. _Lower?_ Sebastian snorted. _It can't get any lower._

He knew he was in trouble because Burt's face turned white and he started cursing like anything.

" _You_ need to be in a hospital," Burt said off the bat. "Your mom needs to fucking admit you."

Sebastian snorted again. "I already talked to my mom about it," he admitted, surprising Burt, who obviously believed that all Sebastian wanted to do was drown in his eating disorder and die because of his eating disorder. Truth was, right now? He wanted an out more than anything. He was sick of feeling guilty about eating. He was sick of hating himself all the damn time because he was food obsessed. But this guy made him wish that he was dead. So yeah, there was that. "She said no dice, because our insurance don't cover it. So, she has to pay out of pocket. And she ain't paying thousands of dollars just so to have some nurse make sure I had dinner."

Before Burt could say anything, Sebastian was fumbling with his crutches.

"There's this eating disorder group?" Sebastian mentioned softly. "It's in a church someplace. They have meetings every Monday and Wednesday in the afternoon. At like two, you know?" his voice was soft.

"Yeah," replied Burt. "Do you wanna go?" he asked, and Sebastian nodded his head.

He was tired trying to walk with his crutches. Just not eating wasn't like before where he didn't notice it for a while and then he got a rush. Now, if he didn't eat right for a day or two, his head was pounding, his hands shook, and Sebastian could barely walk with his crutches without feeling like he was going to collapse.

"I wanna get better," Sebastian admitted. "But uh… nobody wants to help me, you know?"

" _You_ don't wanna help yourself," Burt replied. "We ain't asking you to run a marathon. It's just eating."

"Easy for you to say," Sebastian whispered. If it was so damn easy just to shut up and eat, don't you think he would've done it?" He was so annoyed. They thought that he should just be okay with eating overnight. It didn't work like that, you know? He hated this. "And what do _YOU_ know about what I try to do anyway, huh, asshole? This is the second fucking conversation that we've had since I've been discharged out of the fucking hospital!"

He was sick of people acting like this to him. He was moody all day after that.

 _You don't wanna help yourself_ , yeah fucking right! Paul Karofsky wasn't even in the country for the past month. Maybe that was when Sebastian started to slip—because he didn't got anyone to talk to after a reporter told him he didn't really look like death. What could Burt Hummel say? He barely even saw him in the last two fucking months that he'd been living with the Hummel's. He didn't know anything about Sebastian as far as he was concerned…

Paul Karofsky gave him the same look as that nurse when he walked in—along with _disappointment_.

"Sebastian…" Paul tried to clear his throat, looking at Sebastian's body. "I need to admit you."

"That's what I think so too," Burt said. Yeah, Sebastian thought. Just dump the responsibility on someone else!

Sebastian was sick of disappointing people. He almost wished nobody noticed him anymore. He looked away off into the window. "You don't need to do anything," Sebastian whispered. " _I_ don't wanna be admitted."

He wanted to get better, but he didn't wanna be admitted anymore. Not after what his mom said. And he also didn't wanna spend another few weeks stuck in the hospital. Sebastian was sure he'd literally fucking die if he had to do that.

Paul eyed Sebastian's body. "I'm willing to work with you, Sebastian… your weight is _dangerously_ _low_. You need to be monitored in a hospital. You might have electrolyte imbalances, and your heart might not be working so great. You know, when you don't eat—your body needs to get energy from other places, and that _includes_ your heart muscle."

"I'm sick of being in the hospital," Sebastian said softly, placing his hands on his knees. "Okay? I'm sick of it."

Paul looked sympathetic towards him. "I want to offer you another solution, Sebastian, but I can't let you go out of here knowing how much you weigh. Your BMI is so low it's dangerous," he asked softly. "I have to admit you, okay?

Sebastian felt tears in his eyes, but he didn't dare let them fall. "Can I take tests, go home, and then tomorrow, someone could bring me here?" his hands started shaking. "I can get my sister to drive me here every day… I swear."

"The kid wants me to take him back home to his mom," Burt explained when he mentioned Lena.

Paul looked surprised. "Are there any problems at home?" he asked, looking directly at Sebastian.

"Look, I'm living under his roof, right?" Sebastian glanced over at Burt. He was _so_ throwing this guy in the line of fire because he didn't care. "But I don't know what he's thinking—like his house is a fucking vacation home or something—he just threw me in the basement and forgot about me, you know? I have a _mental illness_. I was in a fucking vulnerable state 'cause his amazing kid made me go to Dalton and that day… well, this reporter told me that she thought I would look thinner in real life. I don't got my therapist around for a month, and nobody's helping me out, okay? What did he _expect_ would happen? He told me that he won't let this happen to his kid, and I know I'm not his kid… but I'm under his roof, right? So I guess I'm _HIS_ responsibility, but apparently, him and my mom think that it's fucking okay to just throw me down in the basement and forget about me. Like I'm some stupid fucking dog—"

"It is _NOT_ like that!" Burt cut him off, which pissed Sebastian off.

"Then what it is like?" Paul asked, raising an eyebrow. Sebastian just started playing around with the hem of his shirt.

"I don't got parents as far as I'm concerned," Sebastian shrugged. "He told me he's scared I'd _die_ in his house. Like I can die, but as long as I don't do it in his house, it's okay since the police ain't going to be asking questions."

Paul was looking at Burt with a hard expression, like he was trying to strip him away.

"I didn't mean that," Burt spluttered out, going red in the face. "The kid is twisting my words…I don't know."

Sebastian knew that Burt didn't mean it like that, but he didn't care it like that. "What the fuck do I care about what you feel or think?" he spat out as hotly as possible, his hands were shaking, and he was starting to feel real dizzy in the head. "You fucking _blame me_. That it's somehow _MY_ fault that I'm not eating. You know that I just didn't wake up one day and decide to stop doing it, right? And it's your fucking kid that posted pictures of me all over the internet, sleeping shirtless in my fucking car! _YOUR KID_ that got me kicked out _MY_ house! Your kid that outed me to my fucking _seriously_ homophobic mother who is _NEVER_ ever going to love me again…"

His voice got soft at the end. Because she didn't love him anymore. The second he said he was gay, he knew that there was no way that she could even think of him like that. Sebastian felt his chest aching.

"But you don't care," Sebastian said to Burt, his voice going suddenly calm. "You don't. Cause _I_ ain't your kid. You don't give a shit if my mom hates me. You think I'm some stupid kid that don't know what he's talking about. If you don't want me around so much, then take me back to my mom who I specifically told you _WATCHED_ my father try to _STRANGLE ME_ when I was fucking six years old. But maybe the oxygen just fucking left my brain—and it ain't working so good since I don't eat either—that my opinion to you don't matter... _it don't_."

Sebastian looked at Burt seriously. "You won't let anyone talk trash about your kid, but you won't even fucking make sure that I eat. Not once have you fucking asked me about it… _I'd_ fucking give a shit if my dog don't eat so I don't know what I am to you. Probably less than that," his lip was shaking, and he was looking away.

The room went silent for maybe like a minute. Which was a long time when you were three guys in one room.

"I'm sorry, kid," Burt said, and he sounded genuine enough. "I didn't know what to do with you. After I saw the…"

"Yeah," Sebastian got that much, but he just wished that… things went differently, he guessed.

Burt reached over and squeezed Sebastian's bony shoulder, and he flinched because it hurt. He was so thin that just the act of someone trying to squeeze his shoulder gave him genuine pains.

"How about we… try this again?" Paul tentatively offered. "You don't have to be admitted if you can come by every day. But before you go, you'll draw bloods and if they are abnormal in any way, I'd admit you."

Sebastian thought that was fair… sort of. But he didn't tell Paul about his heart being weird, because he didn't wanna be in the hospital. Plus, if he gained weight, then they should go away, right?

"Kid, I… I didn't think about it like that," Burt finally said, and Sebastian actually felt comforted that this guy was fessing up. Maybe Hummel's dad really was the good guy. "As far as I saw, I was doing my part because I was giving a roof over your head—for longer than your mom thought you'd need to budge by the way… but I haven't really been doing my part. I don't think I thought of you as _my responsibility_ before, kid. I just… I don't know, you know?"

Sebastian smiled weakly. "Yeah," he said, looking down at the ground. He was sorry he was such an awful case.

He found it funny that it was the second time they were starting over together, maybe. But at least Sebastian didn't have to be admitted to the ICU to get someone to hear him out, and that _felt_ good. Paul sent him away for labs, which Sebastian hoped were all okay because the last thing he wanted to do was to be admitted in the hospital, _even_ if it meant that maybe people were going to think about him again and send him flowers…

Fortunately, his bloods were okay, and he had an ECG done. At the time, it wasn't bad. Sebastian was relieved. Sort of.

The orthopaedic docs had a slot for an appointment. They said that his bone was healed enough. They took off his cast and scheduled him for physiotherapy. They told him some exercises he could do at home to strengthen his legs too.

He was supposed to come back to the hospital tomorrow, and have the tests done again. Burt was probably going to strip him down and weigh him every day—you know, just to make sure he didn't put anything in his pockets. After their consultation, he was made to drink Ensure in the car. Sebastian was kind of terrified of a drink that was literally designed to put weigh on you. He heard on Instagram that it tasted like chalk, he sort of didn't mind the taste.

When he got to the house, Kurt and Blaine looked like he nearly pissed themselves when he saw Sebastian. The last time that Kurt saw him was maybe a few pounds ago, and he told him that he was seriously scary looking.

Apparently, a few more pounds and he was way more than just scary looking because they were staring at him.

Sebastian cleared his throat, feeling a little better that he was actually drinking that Ensure. Even if he totally flipped the nutritional information on it and saw that it had loads of sugar. But it still had less calories, fat and sugar than the snickerdoodle cookie that he wanted to eat, and that made him feel really guilty.

Sebastian looked away from them, but he shouldn't have because it emphasised on how sunken his cheek was.

"Hey," Blaine's voice was soft. "Sebastian?" his voice got even lower, like just sound was enough to shatter him.

Sebastian tried to stiffen his shoulders, but he couldn't. His back stayed rounded. He just looked over at Kurt, suddenly pissed as he said, "Why the fuck did you have to say that stuff about some fucking cookies?"

Kurt looked like he didn't know what the hell he was talking about.

It was so stupid. Sebastian knew that he fixated on something that would take a fucking while for Kurt Hummel to even remember that he said in the first place—but it was destroying Sebastian meanwhile. Like how pathetic was that?

"You were talking to your stepbrother," Sebastian said, feeling even more pathetic that he had to explain it to Kurt. He was such a _loser_. "About the cookies in the cupboard, you know? You said that nobody's supposed to eat four hundred calorie cookies, right? You remember saying that? Because I was going to eat one but…"

Kurt's face filled with recognition. "Oh!" his shiny blue eyes glossy in the light. "That was… forever ago!"

Sebastian looked down at his body. "Yeah," his voice was soft. "I know."

His face went red because suddenly, he realised how fucking stupid it sounded when he said it out loud. Like how fucking sad were you when you were still hung up on the fact that some guy said something about you eating a cookie like ages ago? Seriously. Now, Lady Gay was probably thinking about how ridiculous it was that something happened a month ago and Sebastian decided to just stop fucking trying with himself. He felt embarrassed.

"Sorry," Sebastian suddenly blurted out, and then flushed even more because saying sorry was even worse. Because it came out of him—mean ole Sebastian, not Trent walks-elderly-in-spare-time Dixon. "Um… I mean— _whatever!"_ he shook his fists. "It's not my fucking fault I'm sick, okay? So, what does it matter to you if it's forever ago?"

"It's just… I didn't know," Kurt was the one going red this time. "But what the hell, Sebastian? You could've decided to tell me that day that it made you uncomfortable! _INSTEAD OF_ …!" he waved erratically around Sebastian's body.

Sebastian couldn't believe this. "Seriously? What did you want me to say? Hummel, can you please not talk about how people shouldn't be eating four hundred calorie fucking cookies because _I_ am trying to get better? From an eating disorder that you already know that I fucking have when you said that? And why are people fucking blaming _ME?_ You think I look like this overnight? It ain't overnight. You _NOTICED_ it happening. You told me that I was starting to look fucking scary looking and I think that was maybe like seven pounds ago."

He was sick of having people look at him like he was the only one that was responsible for why he was like this.

"I'm so fucking sick of people blaming _ME_ because they don't wanna take responsibility!" Sebastian hissed coldly. _"Fuck you, princess._ You think I _like_ hating myself for every bite that I eat? You think that normal people would rather throw themselves in front of bus than try to eat a fucking snack without _your_ fucking helpful criticism?"

He had an eating disorder. Ha. You didn't expect someone that was an alcoholic to do so good when he worked as a bartender, right? But you didn't need alcohol to live, but you needed to eat. So, confronted with his poison around six times a day (he had to gain weight), and people were surprised when he couldn't keep doing this by himself? Sebastian, thus far, had been practically feeding himself during his own fucking recovery. Why was it surprising that he slipped? He had a fucking lifetime of obesity, and they blamed him for skipping lunch. Where the fuck was _the fucking compassion_ in this stupid house? Because Sebastian was sick of this crap.

He dissolved into a mess when he walked down to the basement. He didn't even feel good about being able to walk. Sebastian hated that he wanted someone to be around him. Now that he could walk, his first instinct was to drive to Dave, which was literally the most pathetic thing that he could do at this point. His life was literally reduced to skipping meals and pining over that guy that tried to kill himself because Sebastian called him fat.

Sebastian considered sleeping for like a second, but he just felt so empty. Maybe he really _loved_ Dave.


	41. Chapter 41

_i've updated 40, 41 and 42 one after the other, so be aware.  
_

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Forty-One

* * *

Nathan Barnes – or as he once heard Kurt call him as Mr Beautiful to one of his friends – was currently trying to find out where to keep a battered-looking box filled with stuff in the Glitter Factory… _aka_ Kurt's room.

He was pretty sure that once Sebastian was told he was moving in here, he'd probably wish he was back at Insect Infesto land because at least living in that death hole didn't make his balls didn't shrivel up and climb back up his abdomen. Nate wondered if Sebastian even liked jacking off anymore if he was always frozen solid, not that he thought about Sebastian jacking off… _much_. Of course, in Nate's dreams, Sebastian always looked… you know, _human_ , and not like a zombie half-ate him and then spat him out because he tasted too salty.

What? He liked Sebastian… as in the _whole_ of Sebastian and not him with half his body weight dissipated in ether.

Nate sighed, sitting on Sebastian's mattress and rolling around a shiny purple bouquet in his hands.

"Are those _flowers?"_ Kurt asked when he walked into the room, looking at the bouquet in Nate's hands.

"Well, the guy that Sebastian actually likes never gave him the fucking flowers. Remember he asked for purple ones?" Nate looked pissed. Not only did he have to give up the fact that he liked Sebastian, but he had to give him away to some asshole gorilla that couldn't be bothered to check up on him. "How hard is it for that guy to _text back?"_

He knew Sebastian didn't like him, and he couldn't make Sebastian _not_ like that guy, but it was painful to watch Dave mistreat him.

"Dave told me he's just weirded out after… after seeing Sebastian's house," Kurt stammered. "He said Sebastian was acting crazy, which of course, _I_ had to agree with considering how he just went off when we were there and…"

Kurt stopped talking then sighed. "Let me guess," he said. " _You_ don't approve of anyone badmouthing your captain?"

"Yeah, I don't!" Nate stared at Kurt like he said something stupid. The big ole guy that used to push around skinny gay guys like Kurt. Guys that couldn't deal with his closeted homophobia and didn't wanna talk to the guy dying of an eating disorder because their feelings were hurt. "Wasn't it his idea to take Sebastian to get his stuff?"

"It was," Kurt admitted. "But Sebastian did overreact when Dave… okay, maybe…"

"When Dave what? Asked him to send him _real pictures_ of his physical abuse so that he could do him a favour and let him stay in his house?" Nate asked seriously, putting the bouquet down. "I get it, Kurt. You and Sebastian and every other gay guy—besides me—is trying to protect him because of what happened. But are you really putting Dave in front of Sebastian _right now…?_ Sebastian who is one step away from walking around with a permanent feeding tube. And you know what? That's the best outcome. The more likely thing to happen is he just suddenly drops dead.."

Kurt just stayed silent as Nate went off his own rant.

"Dave said that he's freaked out by where Sebastian _lived?_ Okay. And what about _Sebastian_ , who got beat up there for a whole fucking summer?" Nate asked, his hands shaking bad. He even felt like crying, you know? "Sebastian's so in love with that guy he might actually open up to him, but that selfish bastard doesn't even _ASK!_ "

Kurt stared at Nate like he hadn't even thought about it. "Dave is not selfish," he defended. "You don't know him."

Nate was pretty sure that Dave guy was good at talking, but _not_ so good at doing. Last Nate saw him, Dave was pretty pissed that his boyfriend at the time didn't tell him that Sebastian was out of the hospital. Now, he didn't seem to care about the fact that he completely dropped out of Sebastian's radar for a fucking month. Sure, Paul Karofsky left the country _without_ _telling Sebastian,_ but Nate knew that if he told Sebastian, then it meant he'd have to tell _all_ his patients.

But what about Dave, huh? Couldn't he fucking pick up the phone and at least _tell_ Sebastian that this was happening?

Sure, Nate felt bad. That guy tried to kill himself, after all. But it was Sebastian's life that guy was playing with—someone whose life was still in fucking imminent danger, and that pissed Nate off. He got Sebastian to tell this guy that he liked purple flowers. Come on. Have you _met_ Sebastian Smythe? Did you think the words _purple flowers_ could be strung into one sentence without a reference to some kind of STD he contracted forever ago?

Or you know, a comment about how Kurt would need a wedding filled with purple flowers before he lost his virginity?

Nate stared at the bouquet with shiny eyes. "How would _you_ feel like if the guy _you_ like starts looking like Sebastian?"

"I… well… um…" Kurt was stammering. "Look, it was just a lot for Dave take in, okay?"

Why were they defending him so much? Nate wondered. Even Sebastian did. Yeah, he knew it was a little cruel to think about it…. because they were defending him because they were terrified, he'd hurt himself again, you know?

But if they couldn't keep treating Dave like he was _glass_.

"You know what's also ironically a lot to take in?" Nate asked, raising an eyebrow. "Sebastian _and his missing body_."

Nate leaned back and then tried to take a deep breath in. He didn't know how Sebastian managed to disappear in front of his eyes, you know? He felt like one day he was extra thin and another, he looked like he was closer to a coffin than he was to sitting in a classroom in Dalton. Now, Sebastian looked like he was better suited for a life-saving inpatient program in the hospital—the kind where Nate heard they kept the bathrooms open just to make sure the guys there didn't throw up, you know? And they stuck a nurse to you just to see you didn't exercise compulsively.

Nate doubted Sebastian could exercise compulsively when he just got his cast removed but… he was _really scared_.

He knew this was awful but there were times he literally just gave up on Sebastian. There were days where he was mentally preparing for the time when his mom would tell him that that friend that he liked, the friend that he went to see all the time, had unfortunately passed away. _I'm sorry, honey,_ he could almost hear his mom's voice ringing in his head. _Do you need to be alone?_ He knew it was cruel but how could you expect someone that had been abused all his life, that had been losing pounds and pounds for years without people really giving a shit, to somehow _be okay?_

"Why don't you call Dave?" Nate asked Kurt. "About Sebastian?" he didn't want his own jealousy to be the reason that Sebastian didn't get attention that might help him. This wasn't a bad romantic comedy. Sebastian was _deadly_ _sick_.

Nate read that anorexia was the deadliest mental disorder. He read on the internet that 20% died in 20 years. It didn't sound like a lot. Nate was pretty sure that Sebastian had a 20% chance of dying every day.

Every day, Burt or Kurt were driving Sebastian to the doctor was looking for electrolyte and heart abnormalities Sebastian might have. Nate even read that people went into comas… or they could just drop down and _die_.

"What?" Kurt stiffened. "And ask Dave what? Can he _please_ save Sebastian from his self-imposed abyss?"

"It isn't self-fucking-imposed," Nate spat out. "How about: can you _please_ get your head _out of your fucking ass?"_

He was seriously considering driving there himself and giving that guy a piece of his mind.

"You know, all this important therapy and crap isn't going to help him if nobody even gets him to _open up_ ," Nate just said. He didn't think that Sebastian said much to Paul Karofsky. "I know you don't like him, but you're all playing a dangerous fucking game. It may be a game to you, but to him, this is his real fucking life. You think you're nice because you helped him put a roof over his head, but you _destroyed_ his life, okay?"

Nate paused. He didn't mean to say it like that. "I'm sorry," he genuinely meant it too.

"It's fine. And it's frankly, called for," Kurt said softly. "I am actually _trying,_ believe it or not. My dad has been taking him to the hospital every morning and if I don't have to go to my job or to college, then _I'm_ driving him there."

"Yeah, he told me…" Nate had been wondering something for a long time. "Um, Kurt… do you know his weight?"

Kurt swallowed the lump in his throat. "Yes," he said. "I didn't… not on purpose. I've been driving him for a week but yesterday, I just happened to look down when he weighed in, and just caught sight of the number."

He turned paler than the fluff of a Boston crème doughnut. Maybe Nate felt a _little_ bad for him.

When Nate came around this morning, he was still shocked at how much weight Sebastian had lost. Considering Sebastian already looked like a skeleton and was too-thin, he started to look like a walking bag of bones. _Literally_. Every time he produced sound, his whole body vibrated because his toothpick-legs couldn't even _try_ to hold up his heart and lungs and other important things that Sebastian looked like he wanted to carve out for a few pounds.

Nate didn't wanna know how much Sebastian weighed. "He drove to see his mom today. I'm going to pick him up."

"I'll come with," Kurt said. "Maybe I can call Dave over and we can… go out to eat?"

Nate thought that sounded like a good plan, so he nodded his head and smiled a little. He just… hoped that everything would go okay. They were the three people that went to see Sebastian's house after all. It only sounded fitting, especially when Nate was going to try and pull Dave's head out of his ass for being a dick.

Nick started picking out a flower. He guessed he should give the bouquet to Dave to give to Sebastian.

 _Asshole_ , Nick thought. _You don't deserve Sebastian_. He didn't get why Sebastian even liked him in the first place!

"Did you ever think about why the spider freaked him out so much?" Nate suddenly mentioned. He'd been thinking about it since that day. Sebastian literally didn't mind a bunch of maggots eating away at his dead kitchen, or carpets that were soiled with his own blood. Or that toxic paint smell from the peeling wallpaper. But the spider... "I mean… it just doesn't sound right, considering—well, _um_ … did you see all the other stuff! _I_ still have nightmares about it."

Kurt just shrugged. "Finn said that his dad, who served in the army, had a serious fear of public speaking."

It did sound weird that someone was afraid to give a speech but was totally okay with shooting people?

"I suppose this is not the right time to mention that Dave actually owns a tarantula?" Kurt inquired.

"Would it be super mean if we try and get Sebastian to hold it?" Nate asked. He didn't know why Sebastian was scared of it, but he was also sure that letting Sebastian bury his head in the sand wasn't helping him. It wasn't like he could get any fatter if he was getting his nutrition from rocks and the holy earth.

Kurt shook his head. "That is so cruel," he admitted, shaking his head. "The last time _I_ thought I was doing something for his own good, _HE_ ended up losing even more of his body weight!"

"You shouldn't treat Dave like he's going to break," Nate told Kurt. "But we shouldn't treat Sebastian like that either."

The asshole once threw Nate's lacrosse stick over to the other team as a joke during their biggest game. Fuck Smythe.

"You think that making Sebastian hold a tarantula is going to help him?" Kurt asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Nate said. "But I guess if you'd prefer, you can ask him a detailed history of how his father used to batter him to death when he was a kid? Because how is he supposed to get better without confronting him about this stuff?"

Kurt just threw a pillow on him, which was a very Sebastian-like thing for Kurt to do.

First thing they did was Nate drove over to Dave's house, and he promised not to yell at him… _too much_ , Nate thought in his head with a whisper. Dave had returned two weeks ago from an impromptu overseas trip to check out different colleges that he might want to go to. When they got to Dave's house, Nate's heart fluttered a little because he had grudgingly given Dave the bouquet that he had. He sprayed them with Kurt's face mist makeup bottle, so you know, they didn't look half-dead like they would've with how Nate was bashing them around.

Dave walked out, holding a duffel bag that was pretty much bursting. He was wearing an oversized jacket.

"Hey," Dave said as he got into the front seat. Kurt opted to test Nate's patience. He looked at the flowers and there was that look that made Nate feel like an asshole. "Nice flowers, man."

Nate just threw a look over at Dave. "You sure that Sebastian's house didn't put you off _flowers_ forever?"

Dave just went red in the face. "Fine," he submitted. "I deserve that."

Nate wanted to bite off his ear, but he already looked pretty guilty.

"You should give him these," Nate tossed the flowers to Dave. "He'd like it more from you."

Dave looked at Nate like he was crazy. "Man, I don't wanna—"

"Look," Nate's shoulders relaxed as he stared at the near empty road. It was a pretty good day to be out of the house. "I know that you're probably a good guy since so many people like you so much, but you can't just… _do this_ to Sebastian, you know? He's not doing great."

"Yeah, Kurt told me," Dave looked at Kurt, who just nodded his head.

When Nate mentioned that they were going to go pick up Sebastian from his mother's house, Dave looked confused.

"He's still living with me," Kurt explained. "He just went to visit his mom this morning. I think it's to get his car back since he could walk again. I also think he wants to tell her about getting additional treatment for his eating disorder…though I don't really believe him." He went red, but Nate couldn't blame him. Who would believe anyone whose eating disorder was that bad? "If… he gets his car back, maybe you two should ride with him."

They agreed, even though they couldn't think of a worse idea. Except maybe Dave bringing his pet tarantula too.

At the Smythe household, the first thing that Nate heard when he walked in was glass being broken. Uh…

 _"I AM SO SICK OF YOU DOING THIS TO ME!"_ Sebastian was yelling at the top of his voice. His voice was so loud it practically resonated through the whole household. They were upstairs, probably throwing vases. Their voices were making the grandfather clock practically vibrate. _"I'M NOT YOUR FUCKING ICKLE BABY!"_

 _"I AM NOT THE REASON YOU DECIDED TO GO ON THIS LONG TEMPER TANTRUM!"_ his mother yelled.

 _"THIS IS NOT A FUCKING TEMPER TANTRUM!"_ Sebastian yelled back at her, his voice was so scratchy and hoarse from the amount of time he'd probably been yelling at her for. _"YOU'RE PAYING FOR MY FUCKING TREATMENT WHETHER YOU FUCKING LIKE IT OR NOT! GOT IT?!"_

 _"I'M NOT PAYING FOR SOMEONE TO MAKE SURE YOU DON'T SKIP MEALS! EVEN A BABY CAN EAT WITHOUT HAVING A NURSE LOOK AFTER THEM!"_ Nathalie angrily told him.

 _"YEAH, AND A GUY WITH ASTHMA CAN'T TAKE A DEEP BREATH BUT BABIES CAN! HE MUST BE NOT TRYING HARD ENOUGH!"_ Sebastian screamed back at her. " _WHAT'S YOUR FUCKING POINT?"_

Nate's heart stopped when he heard Sebastian screaming like he'd been struck by a hot iron.

 _"WHY CAN'T YOU JUST BE A NORMAL MOM?"_ Sebastian just yelled back at her. Even though his voice got lower, they could still very much hear him screaming out in a scratchy tone, "Sure, I can believe you don't wanna pay thousands to send me to a hospital, so they could see me eat, but why the fuck won't you _PAY_ for my dietary supplements, you psychopathic bitch! What is _WRONG_ with you?"

"I'm _NOT_ going to enable your _eating disorder_ ," the way she said it made it sound like eating disorders didn't even exist—and if they did, so what? That was the tone that Nate got from that lady. "By buying expensive shakes for you."

Sebastian laughed, and it sounded empty and scary. " _I_ hope that your fucking cancer comes back, bitch."

When there was a period of silence, Nate felt like he could hear a bomb ticking into his chest. Yeah, it was a serious low blow from Sebastian, but hey, he didn't fall in love with a guy that was perfect. Still, who told their own mom that they hoped that their debilitating cancer came back? Nate was just glad Nick Duval wasn't here…

"You're kidding," Sebastian said, sounding horrified when he noticed his mom was silent. " _THAT'S_ why you don't wanna give me money…? Mom? You're fucking crazy."

"I read on the internet that… when something happens in an anorexic's life, they… get worse!" Nathalie tried to explain, to which Sebastian went silent for. Their voices were echoing from the hallway upstairs. "Like… life events. That it is _triggering_ for them. Did you see how you look like? _I_ wouldn't be worried about me dying anytime soon, love. If _I_ hadn't already paid for the chemotherapy and given Lena money for her baby, then I would've…"

"What the _FUCK_ is _WRONG WITH YOU?"_ Sebastian spat out. "You're _hiding_ your cancer from me now?"

Nate didn't understand this family dynamic at all, but he could see why his mom didn't wanna say anything.

"And _I'm_ too fat to be anorexic!" Sebastian added on as an afterthought. "I'm _fatorexic_. I'm so fucking huge that—"

 _"STOP… IT!"_ Nathalie snapped back at him. "Sebastian, _THAT'S ENOUGH_ , okay? It's _ENOUGH!"_ she sobbed.

Nate flinched. Sebastian looked like something that you'd find after the butcher was done cutting off all the meat and sinew off a dead lamb. Just him thinking he was too fat to be anorexic kind of confirmed the diagnosis.

Sebastian was walking down the stairs and Nate watched his mom follow him afterwards.

 _That explains the mysterious weight loss_ , he thought. Kurt said something about how he noticed that the Smythe family didn't seem to keep their weight on for long. Well, with _CANCER_ , it was no wonder…

"You couldn't feed an overstuffed bear!" Nathalie said. " _I'm_ surprised you can lift your arm with that many layers."

Nate was always so surprised to see Sebastian recently. He was just covered in thick layers, and it did look almost comical. He was sure it was because of the fact that Sebastian was super cold all the time. His face was pasty-pale. His veins were jutting, and his fingertips were blue. If it got any colder outside, Nate didn't even think that Sebastian would be able to survive unless they put him in a medically induced coma.

Sebastian just glared at Nate, Dave and Kurt, who was just standing there with about as much energy as a stoner.

"Why are you doing here?" Sebastian looked pretty much in the mood to hit something. Or smoke something.

Nathalie just looked at them, because she was pretty sure they heard everything. "Sebastian, _behave_."

"I ain't fucking behaving," Sebastian said in an irritated voice, crossing his arms over his chest. Every time he moved, it was like his body disappeared even further into the jacket. He was like the opposite of the headless horsemen Nate guessed. "Great. Now, _THEY_ find out my mom has cancer the same fucking time that _I_ find out."

Nathalie wrapped her arms around him, but as she hugged him, even her short arms just seemed to seriously overlap around his waist.

"Mom, you're fucking embarrassing me," Sebastian said, trying to get out of his mom's death grip. Though, maybe Nate shouldn't say _death grips_ … about the guy with a deadly eating disorder and the woman with a cancer recurrence.

"I think it's cute," Dave said, and that look on Sebastian's face made Nate feel awful. The way he just lit up.

"What do _you_ know about cute, gorilla man?" Sebastian asked, but you could see he was fawning over him.

Dave cleared his throat and looked down at the bouquet of purple flowers that Nate gave him. Sebastian was staring at the bouquet himself and looked like he was trying to guess if it was his or if there was another guy that asked Dave to get him purple flowers. "Uh…" Dave offered Sebastian the flowers, who immediately grabbed them. "This is yours."

"Thanks," Sebastian stared down at them. The way his eyes lit up almost made him look rosy. "They're really nice."

When Dave inched closer, Sebastian almost tore the flowers apart because he didn't expect it. He then relaxed. Nate moved close to Sebastian and then let out a sigh. He loved the smell of Sebastian's coconut shampoo. It was the only part of him that was fatty and full of buoyancy.

"Hey," Nate grabbed his shoulder. "We're kidnapping you for lunch." Yeah, Sebastian would rather be gangbanged.

It was really hard _not_ to miss the look on Sebastian's face. It was as if they just threw congealed vaginal fluids on him!

In the car, Sebastian was staring outside the window most of the time. He ended up trying to pick some of the purple flowers from the bouquet and smelling them. They'd already decided to go to Breadstix, which Nate knew that Sebastian had never been too because he didn't want to be suffocated by armpit hair and substandard Americanised Italian food that he'd never tried. The only rule was if he was going to eat a salad, it _better_ be with dressing… a _lot_.

It was super weird, because Nate didn't expect it to be such a good time. Sebastian and _Kurt_ even got along…

"You're actually mentally disturbed, Smythe," Kurt mentioned after Sebastian went on his anecdote about some guy he slept with when he was fourteen (Nate did think Sebastian was mentally disturbed. For the record), but even he looked like he was sort of enjoying the conversation.

 _"Wooooow,"_ Sebastian rolled his eyes. "How did you figure that out, Hummel?" he said sarcastically.

Nate liked sitting next to Sebastian. Man, he was such a creep. He was obsessed with a guy that was seriously sick and would probably donate a kidney to him in times of dire distress. He found all his jokes pathetic and thought that it was sort of weird that Sebastian didn't have even eyebrows. But he was _still_ into him. _HOW_ did that make any sense?

"I don't know," Kurt cocked his head to one side. "Though the weed and tattoo make me want to say criminal."

"You noticed that?" Sebastian moved to touch his ear and Nate just noticed the _T_ tattooed behind his ear. "How does this make me a criminal? It's practically invisible. I've literally seen my rat take bigger shits."

"What's the _T_ stand for?" Dave asked, and Sebastian practically melted.

" _THANK_ God I'm not Kurt Hummel," Sebastian laughed. "What is up with you and your name, Gay Face? Did your parents lack so much creativity that they just decided to change a letter from your dad's name?"

With Kurt bumbling to himself, Sebastian kept that self-satisfied smirk until…

"Dave?" Sebastian then said something that nearly gave Nate a heart attack. _"Can we talk in private?"_

"Yeah," Dave got up and walked out. Nate stole Sebastian's phone and copied Paul's phone number… just in case.


	42. Chapter 42

_just want to say that this is a triple update for those that just click on the last chapter. i've updated 40, 41 and 42 in succession. **  
**_

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Forty-Two

* * *

Sebastian just stared back at Dave Karofsky, and then he felt… he felt a lot of things, a lot of things that he didn't think he wanted to feel anymore when he saw this guy. He felt so overwhelmed. Stupid fucking butterflies.

"Sebastian, what are you—" Dave was cut off when Sebastian placed a finger to his lips.

He wished he had weed. At least he'd want to actually eat what he ordered like a normal sixteen-year-old. Or maybe he wouldn't be able to smell how much fucking cologne Dave managed to drown himself in. Gross.

"Let me talk," Sebastian said, and then straightened his back.

He couldn't even meet Dave's eyes when he talked. Sebastian wasn't so good at being real.

"You don't treat me right, Dave—I mean as a friend… and you know I'm into you so that makes this really hard for me to even fucking say but just listen, okay?" Sebastian decided to finally say, and then played with the hem of his shirt. He bet he looked he could make polar bears sweat with how many layers he was wearing. "I figured out that even if you were into me and we did end up together, it'll be less than I deserve I guess… so I just wanted to tell you that, you know? Because I don't _wanna_ like you like this anymore. It ain't good for me. It ain't good for my head."

The more he talked, the more Sebastian wished that he didn't just wear his heart out on his fucking sleeve. He bet his heart was ice cold like the rest of him too. He felt Dave place a hand on his shoulder and Sebastian's heart stopped.

 _It feels good_ , Sebastian thought. What? He couldn't fix himself _that_ _fast_. Sometimes, you were into a douche. It happens.

"Good for you," Dave sounded like he meant it. "Sebastian, you and I wouldn't be good for each other."

Sebastian wished he could believe that. "I just wish I could change the way I fucking feel," he admitted, looking away from Dave. He wished that he could just look back at this guy and feel as disgusted as he did before. But even his doughy Pillsbury dough-face kind of turned him on a little. He wished he could kiss him. "This is _hard_."

"Yeah," Dave was smirking this time, as he looked down at Sebastian's body. "Really hard."

 _"Ha,"_ Sebastian playfully punched Dave in the shoulder and his heart quickened like ten thousand skips. Loser.

"Are…" Dave cleared his throat. "Are you really trying with your eating disorder? Even with your mom not being able to like… send you off for treatment because of the insurance problem that Kurt told me about?"

"Yeah," Sebastian nodded his head. He didn't wanna be a fakorexic snowflake forever. He used to have a _personality_.

"Good," Dave said, and they just stayed outside a little while.

This would've been the perfect scene for them to share a joint, or like heroin or something cool but because Dave was now boring. But Sebastian didn't feel like talking to that Warbler that helped him score weed, they just stood there a little while. The dark sky was scattered with stars, and there was no moon tonight. If this was a really good novel, Sebastian would be sitting there admiring the stars for longer than twenty seconds before he decided that he was bored.

"What kind of school do you wanna go to?" Sebastian asked Dave.

"I was kind of hoping for a sports scholarship," Dave replied, leaning against this broken fountain that smelled like ass. "And… somewhere broad, a lot of options. Because I'm not sure what I want I guess. It's a little scary."

"Yeah," Sebastian replied, like he was totally graduating school at sixteen. "Gay Face is doing the same?"

"He wants to go to New York to live with Rachel Berry since she's accepted into NYADA, but he won't just…" Dave cleared his throat. "He doesn't wanna leave you here alone I guess since he's going to have a lot of opportunity to be a fabulous Broadway star, but he thinks you need all the help that you can get right now. Since he posted all that stuff."

"Really?" Sebastian felt warmth flood his chest. "Huh." He felt good about being cared for. Did that make him a dick?

"Don't tell him that!" Kurt yelled, having have just entered in on the scene. Sebastian thought that it was pretty good timing too—Sebastian was so touched that he almost _smiled_. Gag. "Dave, I told you those things _PRIVATELY_."

Sebastian cocked his head to one side. "He wasn't telling me about your menstrual cycle, princess."

" _HA_ ," Kurt rolled his eyes. "I'm surprised you can string a coherent sentence when your brain is begging for sugar."

Sebastian couldn't even say he got plenty of cock cum clots in his blood nourishing him because he hadn't recalled the last time, he had a drink or slept with someone. But he also had the libido of a dying monk.

"Hey," Sebastian's face softened a little. "Are we _friends_ , Gay Face Needs Some Panty Lace?"

Kurt's jaw dropped. "You don't know," he realised. "All this time you don't know that you're _my friend_."

"Am I your best friend?" Sebastian offered, to which Kurt looked personally insulted.

"You're my worst friend," Kurt decided to reply, crossing his arms over his chest. "But you _are_ my friend."

Sebastian didn't know when he became Kurt Hummel's friend, but he felt good. "Thanks," he hadn't said anything as truthful as that in a while. He was _thanking_ the guy that kicked him out of his house.

"Where did you learn that word?" Kurt looked surprised.

Sebastian just shrugged. "Hey, I want Santa Clause to actually get me a butt plug this year." Kurt rolled his eyes.

They looked out at the sky again. Sebastian really did think it was pretty, but he didn't know how people in novels were expected to be staring at the black abyss for hours on end. Didn't they have like… Netflix?

"Hey," he grabbed Kurt's shoulder. "Gay Face?" Sebastian cocked his head to one side.

Kurt looked like he nearly pissed himself when he squeaked out, "Sebastian? Yes?" because Sebastian touched him. Apparently, being touched by a skeletal ~snowflakegod~ now. Sebastian rolled his eyes.

He took a deep breath and then Sebastian just went in for… a hug. Sad. It was the most action he'd gotten all year.

Kurt frozen for about three seconds, but then wrapped his arms around Sebastian. "Oh," he said. "Wow."

Sebastian got a sick satisfaction, because he knew that Kurt was feeling up how prominent his vertebrae was. He was sinking his hand into Sebastian's back just to see how bony he was, and Sebastian liked it. He practically got off on it like a sick bastard. Seriously. Who thought like this? He was embarrassed that this made him feel _this_ _good_.

He had so little sugar powering his brain fog that he forgot that normal people didn't get off being told they looked _bad._

After they were done eating, Sebastian was totally sort of spacing out. He even gave his keys for Nate to drive whilst Dave took Nate's car. Sebastian tried to ignore—you know, the fact that he ate, and he could feel what he was eating coming up his throat. He was sure he had reflux, and no matter how much water he drank, he didn't feel good.

"Nate…?" Sebastian just stared at the road for a while.

"Yeah?" Nate's voice was soft. It made him feel pretty good too.

Suddenly, all Sebastian could think about was his mom. He couldn't believe that she fucking lied to him. She kept on telling him that she didn't believe that he had a real eating disorder, and he'd rather believe that than knowing that she was sick, you know? Especially when he just told her that he _hoped_ that her cancer came back.

The sadness hit him quick. He felt like tearing himself apart. Why did he just have to say that? Seriously?

"Sebastian?" Nate reached out to squeeze his hand. He was a good friend.

"You're my _best_ _friend_ , okay?" Sebastian decided, his voice just a whisper. "Thanks for the flowers."

Sebastian watched Nate face contort a little bit and at the stop light, he fidgeted around. Sebastian was sad. How long did this guy go without jacking off? He looked like he got a boner from Sebastian telling him about _flowers_.

He dozed off, trying to sleep off the fact that he ate way too much for his own good.

When Nate woke him up, Sebastian thought he was going to be at his own house but instead, he was at Dave's house. That was when the alarm bells started ringing in his head, but he shut them up because why would he be scared of going to _Dave's_ house? Sebastian followed Nate inside the house, but his mistake was that this six-foot-tall with more ab-than-flab lacrosse player just grabbed his hand. And Nate's hand was _sweaty_ and gross.

"What's going on?" Sebastian sounded like he just sucked helium out of a balloon. Still a deeper voice than Gay Face.

Kurt joined them soon enough, and he was pastier than ever.

"Hey, it's going to be okay," Nate said. Alarm bells were ringing in Sebastian's head. "You _know_ we care, right?"

Sebastian felt a coldness in the pit of his stomach, and he was hoping he was going to puke up whatever he ate, because right now, it was sitting hard in his stomach. He felt like he gained a hundred pounds. Looking at his reflection off the fridge, Sebastian was surprised he didn't look like how he _felt_. He looked… _bad_. But he felt fat.

"Nate, what the _FUCK_ is _GOING ON?"_ Sebastian asked him, more pissed than terrified.

"Hey, hey," Nate was massaging his back, trying to calm him down. "Hey, it's okay... I'm _here_."

"Here for _WHAT_ , you _SADISTIC ASSHOLE?!"_ Sebastian wasn't sure what he was freaking out about. He had never felt more like a fucking woman than he did in that moment. Freaking out about _nothing_.

Then Dave Karofsky just had to bring one of those giant fuzzy motherfucking spiders.

Sebastian felt his whole body freeze up, and he was pretty sure that he'd never had a flashback of anything before, but he could remember everything so vividly. He could remember how that felt like in his mouth. Sebastian could remember how _dirty_ he felt like in the inside with that thing in his mouth.

"You wanna talk about this?" Nate asked. "Or you wanna hold it?" Sebastian's stomach flipped.

"You're _fucking crazy_ ," Sebastian decided to say, his hands shaking like crazy. His head was pounding, and he was pretty sure he wanted to die. "No, I ain't fucking holding _THAT_. Take that out of my _FUCKING FACE NOW!"_

The way he was talking made everyone pale. Good. Assholes. Why did they get him a _SPIDER?_

Dave disappeared and put away his tarantula, but Sebastian's heart was in overdrive. What kind of asshole would do that to his kid anyway? Sebastian wondered, his head pounding. All he could think about was all the stuff that had been done to him over the past few years. He could practically feel his arm snapping like a fucking twig and being yelled at because he left his room after ten. He used to try to fix his wedgie in his class but being a three-hundred-pound mammoth with a broken hand was hard. Sebastian moved his hands down to his hips, surprised by the fact that he couldn't feel how fleshy he felt. Inside, he felt like he was suffocating under fat. He could remember the look of disgust that people had when he sat next to them on the airplane, and his arm spilled over their seat.

He sunk down and buried his head into his knees. He felt like crying, but tears didn't come.

"Sebastian?" Kurt Hummel sunk down beside him. "Are you mad at us? Because we genuinely thought that…"

His own fucking name meant vulnerable and revered. He was a deep regret. He was cursed from the start.

"Yeah," Sebastian looked up—nope. No tears. He sat down and then patted for Nate to come sit next to him, who obliged. Dave joined, because it was weird to be the only fucker that wasn't lying down on the floor. Funny because the kitchen had like twelve chairs around the table. "I hate spiders. Always fucking have."

"But…?" Kurt urged on. He read way too much John Green to be able to read into this situation.

Sebastian leaned his head against Nate's shoulder. "Look," he sighed deeply. "My dad knows I don't like spiders. Never did. It's why I came over to the big guy's house to do my laundry. Our washing machine had a fucking family of those fuzzy faced fucks staring at me whenever I tried to do my laundry and I don't like it, you know?"

He was almost jealous. Even bugs had a better family unit than him. " _I'd_ rather lick Gay Face's cunt."

"We think you should hold it," Kurt mentioned, sounding hurried. Sebastian couldn't believe this bitch. He was like that guy that you got together with and you told him yeah, you were boyfriends and the next fucking day, he called his chick friends to tell them they were getting married. "It'll help you psychologically."

Sebastian snorted, but he knew _why_ they wanted him to hold that stupid fucking thing. It made sense. You scared of spiders? Hold one. See that it wasn't about to jump on your face and climb down your oesophagus.

"Whatever," Sebastian gave up, because he didn't have a good reason to say no. _No, I'm a precious snowflake?_

He wanted to get better. He wanted to get rid of this stupid fucking eating disorder. But Sebastian knew that meant that he had to talk to people instead of telling them that he didn't wanna talk about it. But he did want to somehow convince his fucking coach that he could play lacrosse again. Let him face it? Those losers would be lost without him? That it didn't matter if he had seven knee operations or seventy. He wanted to be able to do the Warbler flips because he could. He worked hard to be able to do that! He wanted to have hobbies that didn't include trying to find out how many calories were in the lip balm that he was using because his gargoyle-dead-skeleton ass had the driest skin ever.

Of course, he always went in with these good intentions but fuck it, it was hard to keep them. You know they always said you can't just choose to get better once? You had to keep doing it over and over again?

Sebastian stiffened when Dave brought out his tarantula buddy again. "He got a name?" he wheezed out.

Yeah, he couldn't keep his calm. He was practically gluing himself down to the nearest surface because he didn't want _that thing_ anywhere near him. Nate grabbed his hand and then squeezed it with affirmation. Shut up, Nate. This wasn't like he was a fifteen-year-old kid that didn't wanna lose his virginity to some drug lord without getting high first. This wasn't exactly like his boyfriend trying to come near him when his lying ass was still covered in another guy's cum, okay? He had a serious reason for why he suddenly sounded like he needed Nick Duval's inhaler.

"Yeah," Nate said, and then pulled him closer to the spider. "His name is _hold the fucking spider, Sebastian_."

"Ha," Sebastian was less afraid touching his first dick. "My dad broke my funny bone, did you know?"

Kurt could obviously see that Sebastian was shitting bricks because he just shook his head. He reached his hands out and Dave gave him the big hairy guy. Sebastian didn't know why he was so scared of it before even. It didn't look so bad but then it _MOVED,_ and Sebastian's heart rate went up by the hundreds. Thanks.

"He tried to feed one to me," Sebastian admitted, trying not to look at it directly when he was saying this.

Nathan stopped holding him. He just dropped his hand. "You're serious?' he said. He looked stunned.

"No, I obviously have a lot to gain from lying about how I had one of those fucking things shoved down my throat," Sebastian replied with a wobbly voice. He felt tears start to form in his eyes which he was vigorously trying to rub away. Emotions? No, thanks. He was allergic to those when he was with people. "Look… I _can't_ talk about this stuff, okay? I don't want people to think I'm making this shit up. I don't got any proof that it happened to begin with."

Nate stared at him like he was spitting it out in speedy French instead of slowly enunciating words in English.

 _"What are you_ _talking about?"_ Nate asked, shaking his head. "Nobody believes you're making anything up, Sebastian."

Looking back at the dubious-looking face of Dave, Sebastian just really had to lose it. He liked this guy—he couldn't just stop liking this guy overnight. This guy that didn't even believe him when he was the one that came to Dave's house. When he was the one that asked this guy to do his laundry (because _that_ wasn't suspicious). When he totally divided his flower piles into _Dave_ and _Not From Dave_ like a fucking psychopath. Didn't they have a special moment tonight? Didn't that matter to him? Or was Sebastian's sad ass reading too much into it?

"What are you looking at me for?" Dave asked. "I thought you wanted to _break it off_ with me? I didn't say anything, Smythe, so don't you try making _me_ look like the bad guy because I didn't immediately believe whatever you say."

Yeah. He did, but he couldn't just turn off _his feelings_ within _two fucking hours_. It didn't happen that way.

Before Sebastian could even open his mouth to reply to him, Nate exploded.

"You know? _I'm SICK of people covering for YOU!"_ Nate stared at Dave with hard eyes. "You know, you're pretty obvious when you don't believe someone? Are you waiting for someone to _call him out_ on this? Seriously, dude?"

"What is your deal with me?" Dave retorted back to Nate, who just stared at him like he was crazy for even asking. "So, I'm supposed to believe that this guy actually ate a fucking spider? He won't even eat Pop-Tarts."

"He has an _eating disorder?"_ Kurt sighed deeply. "It's kind of obvious?"

"What do you mean what's _MY DEAL_ with you?" Nate's voice was higher than ever. The cat was out of the bag and a bitch fight was going down. Sebastian didn't even know that Nate didn't like Dave to begin with. "If you were a fucking decent person, you'd stop playing with his fucking emotions! Seriously. Where else did you think he got the idea of _oh, I don't have proof?_ What are you? His fucking lawyer? The supreme court? This guy went back to his dad's disgusted, infested house to get his _medical files back_ just so he'd have proof when people like you are wondering if he really did get his leg busted in 2006 under 'suspicious circumstances' or if he was lying about that."

"I never asked for proof," Dave replied to Nate. "But now, it's a crime if you start doubting what anyone says?"

"His father is in jail for abuse. Kurt watched his dad _almost fucking killing him!"_ Nate shrieked. "But he was freaking out about _a spider_ more than he was walking through the fucking place where he nearly died. Of course, I believe it! What did you expect him to do? Send you an exclusive Snapchat to you the second it happened?"

Kurt was inching as far away as possible, still holding Dave's tarantula. He decided to stay out of it. Smart.

Sebastian got up. His heart was dropping weird beats and he didn't want to stay. "Nate, give me my keys."

"I am not comfortable with that," Nate replied. "You've got that _I'm about to do something_ stupid look."

"I ain't doing anything stupid," Sebastian said calmly. "Give me keys, or I'm fucking _running_." He meant it.

Nate's cheeks reddened because he reluctantly produced the keys. "Let me drive you—"

 _"I DON'T NEED YOU AS MY FUCKING BABYSITTER!"_ Sebastian felt guilty. He _was_ going to do something stupid.

As if he didn't know that Sebastian could pocket him. As if he didn't know that Sebastian would really run a few miles—the exercise would be a double bonus for him. Next time he saw Nate's car, he was going to key him for fun.

But in his defence, Sebastian's 'super severe' anorexia wasn't going to prevent him from driving! What the hell?

Yeah, hard to do a dramatic storm-out when he just remembered the guy that he was with had been driving him around. Nate looked reluctant to give him his keys. "If you need any help, just call me, okay?" Nate asked.

"I don't need anymore drama," Sebastian replied, speaking faster than his heart was racing. "Bye."

Pitiful. He knew that Nate was technically only sticking up for him because he'd probably allow himself to be run over by Dave Karofsky and still find a way to blame himself for not being obvious enough.

If he could just stop liking the guy, he'd already do it, you know? What did _he_ get from this toxic relationship?

Sebastian hadn't been dependent on anyone for emotion for forever. It sucked. And why did he care so much?

How was he supposed to _talk NOW?_ Sebastian wondered. Just sit around being mocked for a few months and see how much you'd want to fucking share about your life! He didn't want nobody laughing at him about how fucking pathetic it was that he couldn't get over the stuff that happened when he was a child. Stupid white rich boy that thought that he had it rough just because his dad broke his wrist like a million years ago. His mom that he wished would have cancer. Well, he got what he wanted, right? Sebastian's head pounded as he heard some guy honking because he cut him off. Whatever. He could suck his dick, which now looked huge considering how 'small' the rest of him was.

Sebastian could barely drive because his eyes were being blurred with tears.

He felt like they were laughing at him behind his back. Like they were meeting up and discussing how _dare_ he fucking eat four hundred calorie cookies. He felt his stomach twist, thinking about all the people that told him that he'd eaten enough icing for a lifetime. He felt his arteries clog from all the thick Ensure that he'd been drinking and how stiffened his blood vessels were. He drove off the road and parked his car in the middle of nowhere. He grabbed fistfuls of his hair, because all he could feel was the fat engorging in his body. He couldn't take it.

His heart was doing that funny thing that it had been doing for weeks now, but whatever. Just a stupid anxiety attack.

The first thing that he did was drive over to the nearest restaurant he could think of. When he was sure nobody was watching him, Sebastian practically ran to the dumpster. Even though it had been an hour since he'd eaten, Sebastian looked around worriedly just to see nobody noticed him. Then he stuck his finger in his throat. When he couldn't throw up any of the stuff that he ate because he ate like forever ago, Sebastian just banged his head against the wall—but stopped when it started to throb. Guess what? It totally didn't solve anything, and he was _still_ fucking fat.

As if it wasn't enough, he shoved his fingers in again, and then managed to puke up something bloody and disgusting. His fingers were covered in blood. Did he scratch it? It didn't look so bad. Maybe he burst a blood vessel in his face from trying to yack. His heart was still working overdrive and he was starting to get super faint. He left and then he drove to Scandals. Because what he needed when he scratched his throat out was _alcohol_.

At three am, he was completely trashed. And he called Nate to pick him up. Right after he had the biggest realisation of exactly what he wanted to do… after sleeping with a guy twice his age that was 'into' how skinny he was. Gross.


	43. Chapter 43

**Eat Your Words**

Chapter Forty-Three

* * *

Kurt was hysterical. No, he was not worried, or freaking out. He was needed-Carole-to-give-him-a-Valium-just-to-calm-him-down _hysterical_ where he spent about fifteen minutes yelling at the police.

"Kid," Burt walked over to him and held his shoulder. "Give me the phone, okay? I'll talk to them."

It was three am and Sebastian pretty much vanished off the face of the Earth. And he won't answer his phone.

To be fair to Sebastian, it wasn't like it was _that_ hard for a six-foot-two guy with a BMI lower than Brittney's math test scores to vanish for a few hours. Plus, Kurt was convinced if Sebastian got any thinner, he'd disintegrate into ash.

"His name is Sebastian Smythe," Kurt paced around his house. His socks had mini candy canes on them, as he panted. Not only had he skipped his skin care routine, but he was picking off his face like it was going to suddenly make Sebastian appear out of nowhere. He couldn't believe that he let Nate give Sebastian the keys. He thought that he was going for a drive to cool down. If he knew that he was going to disappear, Kurt didn't think he'd let him go.

Did you know how many Lima Bean branches that Kurt had to drive past, trying to find him in the last hour alone?

"Yes, _that_ Sebastian Smythe. From the papers Sebastian Smythe… no, his hair is _not_ blonde! That's just bad lighting."

Blonde? Sebastian was just about as blonde as Finn was short. But _this_ was a very blonde move of him. Kurt was going to stuff him with Starbeetus, bloat him with bread and pump him with pie until he looked less like a deflated ballerina and more like someone with a three-dimensional shape. Every passing minute with Kurt worrying about Sebastian's increased the calorie count of the pizza that Kurt was going to order him as a punishment by 10%.

"Kurt," Burt's voice was more adamant. "Let _me_ talk to them about the kid."

He had also decided that he would physically inject Crisco into Sebastian's concave stomach.

"Tell them his hair _isn't blonde_ ," Kurt told Burt. "I don't want them looking for Brittney 2.0… or is it 3.0?"

If Sebastian was going to dye his hair, he'd probably go for the colour of his vanilla Ensure. Just to tell Kurt that even with snow white hair that blended into his pale corpse skin he was _still_ less vanilla than Kurt.

Right now, Sebastian was his responsibility as much as he was Burt's—even more so because he was the guy that posted that awful picture of Sebastian sleeping in his car. As if that guy didn't have enough problems without a self-righteous Kurt 'exposing' the guy that he _KNEW_ was homeless. As if he didn't stay in the ICU for a month. As if he didn't have more metal in him than any member of The Skanks. As if he didn't weigh less than Pavarotti. Plus, Sebastian was a minor, and the only reason he wasn't floating was because his ego kept him gravitated towards Earth.

 _I didn't know I wasn't allowed to question anything that came out of that guy's mouth,_ Dave texted him like an hour ago. _Of course,_ _Nathan fucking Barnes thinks I'm the devil. I don't wanna fuck Skeleton Face. Is that so bad?_

Kurt had better things to do than trash-talk Sebastian right now. Like, you know, make sure he wasn't dead.

 _Are you crazy?_ Kurt typed back. This was before he went on his needed-Valium-to-calm-down because the last thing Sebastian texted him was a selfie of him eating a sandwich two days ago. Because Kurt texted him during his break demanding photographic proof that he ate. _He could die at any given moment because of his eating disorder!_

 _He's been at this weight forever,_ Dave replied almost instantly. _There ARE skinnier people that are alive now, you know._

Kurt's jaw dropped. _There are fatter people that died from this too! What's your point?_ he texted back aggressively. _Dave, if Sebastian couldn't keep anything down for 24 hours, he would literally be sent to the hospital. Because his body wouldn't be able to handle going that long without food. Do you think that he's getting energy from his non-existent fat and muscle? His body is literally eating itself for energy. He could literally die any second. YOUR FATHER mentioned that the reason, they t take a heart reading every day was that they're scared that his heart is eating itself. And that it'll destroy its ability to function unless he EATS._

 _Yeah, I'm sorry. I was out of line_ , texted Dave. Kurt felt like he forgave him no matter what. Because of the attempt.

He wished he got Sebastian more to open up about his obvious suicidal ideation. He wished he wished _he wished_.

Kurt did finally give up and let Burt talk to the police, only because Nate had called him like every two minutes for the past hour. By the fifth call, he guessed that it had to be something important and not just Nate calling him for a booty call. Kurt just thought he was drinking due to his ever-present Sebastian-sized hole in his heart ( _not_ that it was a big hole considering how fucking skeletal Smythe was). He took Finn's phone and dialed Nate's number—which he had memorised now—and Nate picked up within two seconds.

"It's Kurt," Kurt felt sick. He even texted Sebastian about having him sanctioned in IP by force if he didn't come back.

"Sebastian texted me an hour ago. He's at Scandals," Nate said almost automatically. "I'm going to go get him."

"Pick me up!" Kurt couldn't believe that he'd have to step foot into that tacky gay bar again. How did people even let Sebastian inside? Not only was he underage, but he was famous enough to be recognisable by a lot of people in Ohio. Jean Smythe was after all _almost_ a Kardashian. Maybe a Hadid. There was also the fact that Sebastian looked like he was auditioning for a corpse. What was the theme at the bar? _Wasted?_ Ha _HA_. "How fast can you get here?"

"Do you know where he is?" Burt asked the second that Kurt got off the phone.

When Kurt explained that Sebastian was in Scandals, Burt looked livid.

"They let that kid in?" Burt was grossed out. "They ain't worried some white kid is going to end up _dying_ in their bar?"

Kurt didn't want to think about Sebastian dying on the dance floor. That wasn't what people meant by _killer moves_.

"Where is this place?" Burt was walking towards a bowl where everyone kept the keys around the house. He was fishing out for his own, and Kurt went red. "I'll take that kid back home if I have to _drag_ him back here."

Kurt went red. "Dad, I don't think that you should go." He said. "I'm going to go."

Burt looked at him like he was crazy for even thinking of leaving the house after 9:29pm. How dare he.

"Dad, I'm an adult?" Kurt tried to remind him.

"I don't care what you are, Kurt," Burt replied. "You're not going."

"Yes, I am," Kurt challenged. "And I'll tell you why _I'm_ supposed to go."

All Kurt could imagine was Burt dragging out a sixteen-year-old kid who was sucking on some guy's cock in public. He did not want a gay revolution to start just because a man that was straighter than the hairs on Puck's chest just decided to drag a gay guy out of a bar.

"Dad, you can't go to a gay bar," Kurt said. "You're not gay. You can't even pass off as gay. You're so straight that they could probably smell the heterosexuality off you like straight guys could pick a gay guy a mile off."

Burt sighed in exasperation, rubbing his temple. "I'm not going there to get a date, Kurt—"

"If you go, there might be a reform tomorrow and a magazine article that says _Congressman Disapproves of Sebastian Smythe's Sexuality_. If his mom sees a picture of him in a gay club, Sebastian is going to be telling me about how she thinks he got AIDS from taking a piss in the toilets." Kurt kept his face as indifferent as possible. "And that is why Sebastian will not recover from his eating disorder if you go. Because you made his mom think he had AIDS again."

At least his argument was better than Sebastian's about how he didn't _need_ to eat a slice of cake after dinner.

He would also like to think he'd react more gracefully if he caught Sebastian sucking face with some guy older than him, probably trying to re-enact a scene from _Cum-Addicted Anorexic Twinks Suck Major Dicks at Bars_.

But honestly, Kurt was hoping Sebastian was alone. Because if he found _ONE_ guy that was willing to sleep with him tonight with his collarbones looking more like knives and his thighs about as big as Kurt's forearm, then Kurt would just resign from the gay community. He was not going to be a part of a community that shagged a sixteen-year-old kid that ate whole-wheat bread solely for the fact that he knew his gluten intolerant ass couldn't absorb all the calories.

On a disturbing note, Kurt read that if you were gluten intolerant and ate gluten rich foods, you could end up with serious abdominal distension. Even bloated post-dinner Sebastian's ribs and hipbones still stuck out.

"Dad?" Kurt was lost in a trance, but it seemed like his dad was still considering whether his gay _EIGHTEEN_ -year-old should go pick up his gay friend from a gay bar…. with another gay friend.

Burt rolled his eyes. "Be quick," he ordered. "When that kid comes home, I'm giving him a talking to."

Kurt smiled weakly. "We did make him hold a spider," he explained. "He said his dad made him try to _eat_ one."

Burt looked shocked. "What kind of fucking psychopath tries to feed a spider to his own kid?"

"Well, he did try to _murder him_ ," Kurt shuddered. He was glad that Burt believed Sebastian. It made him feel awful that Dave didn't take the bait, especially when he'd been to Sebastian's disgusting house before. He didn't hate Dave, but he was sure Sebastian and Dave shouldn't be in the same room anymore, especially after what happened tonight. And Dave was _still_ trying to justify what he said! "I have no idea, but try not to be too hard on him," he honestly couldn't imagine what was going on into someone's mind that made him think that it was hilarious that his kid was choking on an arthropod. But he'd seen Jean's house. Who willingly lived in that filth? Especially for a billionaire.

"I ain't going to be hard on him," Burt said. "But he's drinking that chalky Ensure crap and we're having a talk."

Kurt wanted to tell his father that to really torture him he should have 'the talk' with Sebastian. What? Just imagine!

"Jesus Christ," Burt looked sick. "That guy made that kid eat a spider? Shit. That poor kid. No wonder he's got such an attitude. Especially—did you notice his mom doesn't excuse his shit behaviour? The kid told me it's because even she knows she's that wrong. He doesn't even see her like his mom anymore after all the stuff that's happened."

Kurt nodded his head. "Yeah," Nate texted him. He was outside. "His mom tried to hide her cancer from him because she was scared that it would make his anorexia worse. But lying about it is probably worse than telling him."

 _"Cancer?"_ Burt reiterated, raising an eyebrow. "This family can't fucking lose or gain weight without a fucking crazy explanation. I thought it was weird that his sister was getting fatter until his mom told me that she was pregnant. I thought it was weird his mom was losing so much damn weight. But _fucking cancer…?_ I'm glad that kid isn't living in his house. I don't think he'd want to eat if his mom ain't eating either. Like that kid could afford to skip a meal."

When Kurt left with Nate, he didn't even tell him off for driving like he wanted to defy gravity.

Scandals was busy as ever. Kurt had to weed through the stench of cigarettes, beer and sweat. The bartender knew exactly who they were talking about whether they said they were looking for a guy whose face bones popped out when he smirked. They found Sebastian in a bathroom, lying on the disgusting floor. He was wearing _baggy black clothes_ —like the kind fat people wore to hide themselves. Kurt would've yelled at him except for how spaced out he looked like, with his head on his arms. Sebastian looked ill. Well, he was ill because there was vomit all over his clothes. Ew.

"Hey," Kurt dropped down to Sebastian's body, and then rubbed his arm. "Are you okay?"

Sebastian tried to smirk at him. "Hey, princess," he mumbled. "Came here to rescue me? That your new job?"

Kurt shook his head. "Sebastian, get off the floor," he tried to pull Sebastian up without touching his puke.

"Why?" Sebastian replied, yawning directly after. Did he even have money with him anyway? Because Kurt totally couldn't imagine anyone buying a guy with his face half-eaten by his anorexia a drink.

"Firstly, we have taking you home," Kurt crossed his arms. Secondly, because that floor is disgusting. I think some people tried to pee in the urinals and ended up getting it on the _FLOOR_. Thirdly, because someone might not see your emaciated body and accidentally stomp on you." Sebastian laughed at the last one, like it was crazy.

"Yeah, sure," Sebastian slurred. "Do you know how many fucking Dunkaccinos I drank in the last ten years?"

Kurt shuddered. "Do you know how many meals you've skipped in the last ten years?"

Sebastian's face fell. "Huh," he shrugged his shoulders. "Touché, princess."

When Kurt tried to pull Sebastian to standing, he swayed, and Nate caught him before he fell backwards. Sebastian just laughed vacantly. If that guy fell, he might actually break his hipbone.

"How about we get you home, little guy?" Nate said, only for Sebastian to snort and say there was nothing little about him. On contrary, there was nothing _big_ about Sebastian besides his ego and his height. "Come on."

Sebastian snorted when Kurt was about to lift his feet up when Nate was holding his shoulders. "No… not _that_."

"What's wrong?" Kurt said, confused. He'd crouched down to Sebastian's feet. Even his motherfucking shoes were falling off this guy. Seriously. His _SHOES?_ He lost fat in his feet too? "Sebastian, you are not staying here. And there are worse things happening that your skinny ass having to be hauled out by your friends."

When Kurt tried to grab his feet, Sebastian moved his feet away and tried to break out of Nate's hold.

" _Sebastian,"_ Kurt sent a threatening look at him.

Sebastian looked away. "What kind of fucking whalorexic needs _two_ people to carry him?" he drowsily asked.

Kurt wasn't sure how his liver would cope with this, with him having a concave stomach. "Have you seen how tall you are?" he asked him. "Most guys are shorter than you, Sebastian. That's why you need two people."

 _"Suuuureeee,"_ Sebastian reiterated drunkenly. "Whatever. Do whatever you want to do."

"Hey," Nate looked at him with an exhausted-looking face. "Let's drive you home. You aren't doing so hot, Sebastian. There are people that are worried about you. We called the police to come and find you, you know?"

"I pissed my pants," Sebastian snorted. "And threw up on myself. Do you really want me to be in your car?"

"Yeah, sure," Nate rolled his eyes. "I'm going to leave you out here because you smell like piss. Nice try. I got my lacrosse uniform in my car. You can change in that. Or don't. You think I came here expecting you to smell like fucking roses or to look like you're about to walk down the aisle? Throw up in my car. Try to jack off in my backseat. Whatever. Just see how much I care. _You're_ going to Kurt's house, okay? I'll fucking haul you down there myself."

Sebastian's eyes were a glassy green. "Sure, you don't need Hummel to help because of how _tall_ I am?" he spat out.

He tried to get out of the room, but he couldn't walk three steps without swaying or shaking.

Getting Sebastian back to the car was almost impossible. For someone that had 0% body fat, he sure as hell didn't mind putting up a fight. But after some time, he looked like he was tiring out when he looked like he was falling asleep near the bar. Kurt half wished he actually had school tomorrow. Nate did, and Kurt had to be at the Lima Bean at seven. But this kid was killing him until like five in the morning. Sleeping on a stool, Sebastian stayed quiet when they both lifted him up to take him back to the car. Sebastian couldn't seriously think that he was a whale-size because he needed two people to carry him. Kurt's whole body was the length of one of that guy's fucking arms.

After they got him into the backseat, Kurt let out a sigh of relief he kept trapped in his body for forever.

Nate went out on back to have Sebastian change his clothes that he yacked on, and probably smelled like piss from the bathroom. Kurt's anger dissolved when Sebastian slipped off his jeans and shirt and was trying to lazily put on Nate's lacrosse jersey and shorts—no, he didn't look at Sebastian when was changing because he didn't want to have a heart attack? Seeing him wear someone else's clothes was even worse than he imagined. He half-wanted to see how he'd look like if he'd wear Kurt's smallest skinny jeans. They'd probably fall on the floor if he'd attempt to put them on.

"Did you really have to give him _shorts?"_ Kurt mumbled to Nate. Sebastian's thigh muscles have wasted almost entirely, and there was that thick grove where it looked like his thigh was being eaten. He was all tendon and bone.

It was a whole three minutes before Sebastian said something. "Do you think my mom's gonna die?"

Kurt looked back at Sebastian, who had curled himself up on back. At least he was eating enough that he wasn't freezing, even though Kurt was sweating in Nate's car. His air conditioning was broke.

"I had a fucking fight with her about wanting to go into IP, you know?" he slurred. "I told her I wish that she gets her fucking cancer back. I didn't know that…" Sebastian turned to the side, drawing his knees in. Even slurring most of these words, every one of them felt like they were a stab at Kurt's heart. "I ain't a good person. I'm fucking terrified of living with my own mom, because of it, you know? She probably thinks it's not good for me to be around someone that ain't eating, someone that's losing weight because of chemo like her. How fucking twisted is that? She has _cancer_. And she's got to worry about her selfish bastard of a fucking son because he don't wanna eat dinner."

Kurt totally didn't know what to say to that. He wanted Sebastian to open up but now he did, he was _lost for words?_

"Yeah, it was a dick move," Nate admitted. "Your mother fucked up too. She's no angel. And neither are you. You're like the biggest asshole I know. But it doesn't mean that you don't deserve to get better. Because I'd rather you have an accomplishment other than 'maintained anorexic BMI up until the fucking age of eighty', you know?"

Sebastian smiled weakly at Nate. "Yeah, I got you," he said in a low voice. "I _want_ to get better. It's just hard."

"That's why I visit you almost every day, man. I know it's fucking been crazy for you, Seb," Nate said. "But people want you to get better. I know it's hard, but there's people around you that will fucking do anything to make sure your eating disorder doesn't try to con you into thinking you want anything else but to get better, you know?"

Nate cleared his throat. "It's hard for us too," he admitted. "It's hard to see someone you're into so much like this."

Kurt almost dropped his jaw. Did Nate totally admit to liking Sebastian straight up to his face?

Fine. Kurt knew that Sebastian sort of knew that Nate liked him, but those two didn't really _talk_ about it.

Sebastian's ears almost went red. Kurt didn't know if it was from the alcohol or if Sebastian was _blushing_. "You're into so much, huh?" he mocked, leaning towards a driving Nathan's shoulders. "You think I'm hot?"

"You are not. You're not capable of producing heat," Nate replied, looking relieved. "But yeah… I like you. A lot."

"How much _is_ a lot?" Sebastian was milking this, and Nate just rolled his eyes.

Sebastian moved, shuffling in the backseat so that he was lying his head on one of Nate's arms. Nate only used one hand to drive, and by the looks of things, Nate was acting like Sebastian was giving him a blowjob. Nate managed to convince Sebastian that it was totally okay to drive over to McDonald's and get food at this time of night. Kurt even opted to get a Big Mac even though he didn't need one. Nate got a giant chocolate milkshake and an apple pie. He tossed a large order of fries and a vanilla milkshake to Sebastian. Even drunk, he chewed each bite like fifty times.

Kurt texted Burt to tell him that they were coming home. That he should go to bed and he could talk to Sebastian tomorrow. When they got home, they totally laid down on Sebastian's mattress because even though they were exhausted, they were suddenly awake enough to eat and watch the Hangover together.

Sebastian looked like he was complete bliss. The only thing that was probably missing was his weed.

"Does your mom not mind you not coming home?" Kurt had to ask Nate. Kurt was sitting leg-crossed, trying to wonder why he had fries even though he just ordered a Big Mac. This was so not good for his waistline.

But Kurt learned his lesson. He had to keep his mouth sealed shut about calories for the rest of his life.

Especially when Sebastian must be so drunk he didn't even care as much about what he was eating. How he managed to look dainty when he was drunk, shouting obscenities and eating each fry about ten million times before swallowing was amazing. Sebastian needed to meet Fortescue's and their never melt-ice-cream if he was going to eat so slow.

"Shut up, Hummel, nobody cares," Sebastian replied. "No, his mom don't care."

"My mom cares," Nate rolled his eyes. "She just doesn't mind me staying out late or having _sleepovers_."

Kurt laughed when he saw how Sebastian grossed out was when Nate said sleepovers. Sebastian looked down to see if he still had a dick, or if he'd managed to starve it off too. But it was hard not to look gay when you were lying in a mattress in Kurt's room, which Brittney covered in more fake jewels and unicorns to make a five-year-old puke.

"You should send her a fucking picture of the powder puff princes," Sebastian nudged Nate in his gorgeous muscular body (hey, Kurt was not blind. Nate, however, seemed to be completely blind if he was _not_ showing off his biceps). "Maybe she will ban you from going out once she knows you're having sleepovers with gay men."

"Yeah, _like_ she would," Nate rolled his eyes. "I don't need to hide stuff from my mom, Sebastian. She even _knows_ that I like you like that." He flushed almost immediately on saying that.

The fact that Sebastian flushed right back at him made Kurt sigh. You had two people that were supposedly chill that couldn't even look at each other's faces when they talked about the fact that Nate obviously liked him? Seriously?

"Yeah, what'd she say?" Sebastian rubbed his cheek, like that could rub against the fact that he was blushing.

Nate was so red he was practically staring at the screen for ten minutes. "Um… yeah, _The Hangover_ is a good movie."

"Sure," Sebastian nodded his head. "Right." His fries were cold, and he was still eating. Kurt felt a little proud of that.

Sebastian was leaning against Nate's shoulder, and was trying to drink a milkshake without having to sit up straight. He had already thrown up outside of the Hummel household because of the amount of booze he drank, and Kurt made him drink a lot of water before they went upstairs. He thought that was the most unbelievable part of the evening, not these two trying to skirt around the fact that Nate admitted that he liked Sebastian straight up to his face. Kurt bet Sebastian said that he knew about Nate liking him but didn't think that he liked him. If Mercedes was here, she would totally tell him not to meddle between them.

"I'm going back to Dalton… not tomorrow, I'm going to sleep in until like two," Sebastian decided. Kurt ignored it, because Sebastian was drunk and not thinking clearly. "Maybe Wednesday?" there was no way he was serious, right? _WHY_ would Sebastian go back at Dalton when his BMI was so dangerously low that he needed an ECG every day?


	44. Chapter 44

_for those people that have been wanting a Sebastian/Nate endgame. well... here's to that. i'm not sure how long this is going to be. i have a few more ideas in my mind of what i think is going to happen in the next few chapters. the thing is if i end this fanfic, i sort of have to do another one. and the other idea i have is also super dark too._

 _so sorry for the mistakes i made. i'm totally spaced out right now. i'm sure there are loads of them. i tried to edit but i'm 90000% sure i failed._

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Forty-Four

* * *

It was fast approaching Christmas by the time that Sebastian went back to Dalton against everyone's advice.

 _Seb, you're going to scare the teachers if you show up_ , Nate said. _No offence, but you look like you're about to be tubed._

Yeah, when he was walking on one foot and crying about reporters, he was forced to attend Dalton. But now, that he was apparently at death weight with a face half-eaten off by his fakorexia, nobody wanted to let him go because they thought that his fragile, delicate emaciated body couldn't cope listening to an hour of math without imminent cardiac failure. Sebastian rolled his eyes. He grabbed Kurt's sewing kit last night and then tried to sew Dalton pants on even tighter. When Kurt walked in on him trying to stitch together his pants, he looked like he was going to be sick.

Like the last thing Sebastian had to deal with was regurgitating glitter vomit over the clothes he was trying to fix.

Sebastian was shirtless and put on the first—and hopefully only—pair of pants that fit him at this weight. Sebastian was not attending Dalton with a fear of having his pants fall in front of everyone. No fucking way. The last thing he wanted to do was show the teach how complete muscular atrophy looked like. These legs used to be able to run track and now they couldn't walk without shaking because they couldn't support his big fat fucking head. Right now, he had a needle in his mouth and the contents of Kurt's sewing kit literally just fucking _exploded_ all over Sebastian's mattress.

 _"Oh. My. God,"_ Kurt's voice totally scared him. He was standing there in his Lima Bean uniform, looking pale… _r_.

"No, just me," Sebastian mused to himself. He put the needle back down to Kurt's sewing kit.

"How are you even _ALIVE?"_ Kurt grabbed a fistful of hair as he threw a bag to Sebastian. Inside were like three huge beef sandwiches. Thanks. "What's _THAT_ on your shoulder? And _WHY_ or _HOW_ is your ribcage literally floating?"

Sebastian looked at his shoulder. "What? My _shoulder bones?"_ he wasn't sure what Kurt meant. "You have those too."

Kurt was muttering something about how he could see his organs from how thin his skin was. Thanks for that too.

Sebastian did gain weight, okay? But compared to the last reporter pics, he'd lost. Like a lot a lot. Like his BMI was like 'normal' anorexic in those pics and now his BMI was consider-IP-sanction-and-monitor-for-heart-failure. Like the kind that everyone stared at when you went in public for at least like two minutes and shake their head because they thought you had cancer. Because half your fucking hair is falling out since you haven't been eating much. The only reason he _wasn't_ sanctioned was because he promised the doc that he'd put on weight. He wasn't about to strain his mom's wallet because she needed _chemotherapy_. He hated talking to his mother and thinking of how much weight she was losing when he was just sitting in the Hummel household, eating burgers with butter buns and fries.

At this point, even Sebastian's _salads_ had more dressing on them than Sebastian had lube in his car.

 _"Shoulder bones?"_ Kurt reiterated, sitting down beside him. He looked freaked out just staring at Sebastian. Come on. At this point, Hummel was just trying to be theatrical—and no wonder he didn't get a part in a play because he fucking sucked at it. Moaning over how sad and delicate Sebastian was. " _Why_ are there so many of them?"

Sebastian was sure that he had a normal amount of shoulder bones. "There _are_ thinner people than me."

"Live ones?" Kurt crossed his arms. "I'm not sure. Maybe ones currently clinging to life in the ICU or in a coma."

Sebastian just rolled his eyes. He'd been good. He practically lived for the times that he didn't want to quit, kill himself or cut off fat from his body with a knife because his stomach was so bloated that he looked like he was about to give birth. Today just happened to be a _good_ day. "Can I ask for something?" he asked, looking almost embarrassed.

"What?" Kurt asked, looking suspicious.

Sebastian just cleared his throat, because he realised how _weird_ it was to say what he wanted to say. "Never mind."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Sebastian!" man, this guy made his testicles sort of ascend straight into his abdomen.

"Fine," Sebastian almost went red. Kurt was wondering what could be so embarrassing of a guy that got pissed at his ex-boyfriend late at night for no reason and then took pictures of his concave, scarred stomach and sent it to him. Writing down: _I'd rather eat a whole cake then fuck you again. Loser._ Kurt totally snuck in to see that massage and he felt sick. That was when Sebastian was 'normal anorexic thin' instead of… well… now, he guessed.

"And…?" Kurt watched Sebastian look away from him. He _really_ wanted to say something. "Sebastian, just say it."

Sebastian then cleared his throat. "I want someone to get me a doughnut," he said almost like it was a secret.

Kurt was confused. "You can drive," he said. "Why can't you get one yourself?"

Sebastian retaliated instantly, grabbing his sweater that was so old even his fucking grandfather wouldn't wear it.

"You want me to _buy_ doughnuts? Are you fucking insane?" Sebastian's cheeks reddened so badly it contrasted against his ashen skin. "Yeah. I don't want someone staring at me stuffing my face with a doughnut in fucking public."

"Are you _SERIOUS?"_ Kurt jumped back like Sebastian just hit him. "You are literally _dying_ from your eating disorder! I can guarantee you that nobody is looking at you and thinking anything other than: he needs at least _way_ more than just that. If you _don't_ gain weight, Dr Karofsky is going to _tube you_ because he thinks you might die any second."

Yeah, he heard that crap. Anorexia had the highest mortality of all psychiatric disorders… Nate sucked for reminding him that like every day. He was pretty sure Sebastian was going to drop dead any second. Nice.

Didn't people hear him out when he said he was fakorexic, and not _really_ anorexic?

Sebastian looked away from Kurt, not sure if he could believe him. Yeah, sure. The doc told him that he could call him anytime (yeah, he wasn't doing that). That his BMI was seriously dangerous. He was always threatened with getting tubed if he didn't put on any weight, or if his ECG was weird at any time. His heart still did funny stuff every night, but it didn't come up in the readings. And why the hell would he tell the doc if he was going to _tube him?_

Sebastian just shook his head. "Fine. I'll get it myself." Yeah, like he'd ever drive for a doughnut. "Forget I asked."

Kurt's tone changed. "Sebastian, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable," he said.

Sebastian threw the sweater on, and then unzipped his pants. He didn't think Hummel would be eying up his dick—not that he could. His fucking boxers were too big on him too. Gross. He had on like male granny panties.

Kurt's face softened even more. "I'll get you the doughnut," he said. "What kind do you want?"

"I don't want it," Sebastian felt greedy for every wanting it in the first place. What the fuck did he want a filled doughnut, bursting to the top with icing and sweet cream insides for? Fat ass. How could he be anorexic? He didn't feel like he had to tube him when he'd literally order an IV line of melted chocolate for fun. "Okay? I _don't_."

He felt like crying, as he put on his sweatpants and then tried to tie them. He missed his old clothes.

Before Kurt said anything, Sebastian said, "I'm not going to stop eating, Hummel. Chill."

Kurt just frowned. "Sebastian, it's just that… do you know how ridiculous it is to me that you're too ashamed to drive to get yourself a doughnut?" Sebastian wished he'd just fucking drop it, or he'd get pissed because he didn't wanna hear about his ridiculous fears. Let him go choke on a fucking spider and leave him alone. "Sebastian?"

Sebastian sighed deeply, and then Kurt shook his head.

"Get up," Kurt ordered. "Even wearing that awful sweater and those grimy sweatpants, I'm going to drive you to the best place in Ohio and _you're_ going to get exactly what you want. And you're going to eat one."

"Have you thought about being a motivation coach?" even Sebastian felt a little better about wanting a doughnut.

Since he was still freezing, he was about to put on an old hoodie that he had lying around the room that sort of smelled gross, but Kurt looked disgusted and then smacked it out of Sebastian's hands. By the way, Sebastian didn't know how since he sweated at this weight. He did generally smell okay—except you know, when he didn't feel like showering after lacrosse practice, so he went kind of slaughtered body cologne on him to cover up his smell (which was disgusting because then his B.O. and cologne just mixed together to make the ultimate _stank_. Ew).

Kurt threw a black jacket he could wear over his sad, lint-covered sweater. He was glad that that this was one of the few shirts that Kurt could give him that wouldn't make Sebastian feel like he was wearing a fucking crop top for fun—as if he needed more people to know he sucked dick. And it wasn't pink either. What a shocker.

"I need to talk to you about something either way," Kurt said.

Sebastian snorted. "You're going to tell me that someone put the cream in your Boston?" Kurt looked grossed out.

"You sound like a pig from the amount of time you spent snorting," Kurt said.

How unoriginal. Gay Face and the rest of the Warblers said that like three times a day.

Sebastian wished he could tell Kurt it was because he spent time snorting cocaine, but it was such a bad joke. Plus, he didn't want Burt to accidentally overhear and then send him inpatient because he obviously didn't gain weight so fast since he'd been using crack to speed up his metabolism. Yeah right. Because weed was a gateway for other stuff, right?

His metabolism was already on crack anyway, okay? Sebastian needed an embarrassing amount of food to maintain his weight, much less gain it. If he totally starved himself, he binged. At his worst, when he barely ate and binged, he _gained_ weight. Remember when the calculus teacher thought that he was getting better when he literally only ate salads…up until he found himself eating fistfuls of cake at three in the fucking morning? Yuck.

The only time he was ever able to lose weight was not by stopping eating, but like eating _less_.

At this crazy weight that Sebastian was at, he was sure that he still ate more than people thought that he did.

If he didn't eat, he'd be dead. He would literally have passed out at three in the morning and never woken up.

He just didn't wanna say how much he could eat because he didn't want to face up to how much he was eating when he was three hundred fucking pounds. And he did eat a lot. Like an order of mozzarella sticks, an order of garlic bread, a whole pizza with cheese-stuffed crust, followed by three different slices of cakes covered in icing, washed down by a banana milkshake—Sebastian used to wipe out 5,000 in a _meal_. And he did it _several_ times a fucking day.

 _That_ was how he got to three hundred. Normal people would be at a fucking _ton_ if they tried to do what he did.

He couldn't eat a fucking doughnut. He didn't want a doughnut. He wanted a whole _BOX_ of them. And yes, he could eat the whole damn box, but he didn't know how to say this without sounding like a greedy bastard.

 _That's because you are a fucking greedy bastard_ , Sebastian told himself. _Fat ass. Eating two is a fucking indulgence... A BOX?_

Sebastian found it weird that Kurt's clothes were big on him, because Kurt was thin for a guy that ate like a salad once a week because he felt virtuous and then inhaled double-cheese double-pepperoni pizza and milkshakes that were seconds away to graduating into freakshakes. _But he's shocked at eating a four-hundred calorie cookie_ , Sebastian told himself in annoyance. Yeah, he wasn't letting that go. Sorry. Seriously? All the fucking big ass words that Hummel knew, and he had to use the C word when they had a guy that was apparently dying of an eating disorder in their house.

It made Sebastian want to cut his body open and rip out his fat coating his fat ass organs that wanted doughnuts.

Kurt was driving since he didn't want to be driving in Sebastian's dead, old Bentley. Sebastian didn't know how Kurt Hummel had a manly man car that wasn't covered in glitter, but he gave him that at least.

He stayed quiet and was increasingly getting discouraged. By the time they got to the shop, he felt panicky.

Sebastian swallowed the lump in his throat when he walked in, feeling timid. Kurt walked towards the counter, staring at him with happy, warm blue eyes and Sebastian just looked away like he was planning on robbing the place.

Kurt did get a box of different kinds, and Sebastian didn't feel so hot. He just kept his hands in his sweatpants.

In Kurt's car, all Sebastian could just think about was his childhood. When he used to walk down the hallway, he'd heard people make pig noises. He had a chair fucking just give way in front of a guy that he really liked. He had to sit back and watch every person in class get asked for class dances, and he just sat there looking like a fool. His fucking nights were based around his dad either hitting him or his mom (ninety-five percent of the time it was him), and Sebastian trying to dull his sore teeth with ice-cream alone in a corner of his room away from everyone else.

"What are you thinking about?" Kurt said, as he managed to pull out a giant heart-shaped doughnut that was oozing with strawberry jelly inside. Sebastian let that one pass because he didn't like jam doughnuts. They were gross.

"About the fact I've never been on a date, Gay Face?" Sebastian admitted to Kurt, who just looked surprised.

What? He practically slept in the same room as the fucking guy for the past month. Was it really that shocking that he told him something he didn't usually tell people? Sebastian was sitting in some old dead guy's sweater, wearing sweatpants that looked like they couldn't even be salvaged for making a two-cent dress for a fucking doll.

"I thought you…" Kurt looked confused. "What about all the guys that you sleep with?"

Sebastian snorted. "You don't have to go on a date with a guy to sleep with them," he said, rubbing his shoulder bones that obviously scared the crap out of Kurt. Whatever. "And my ex never wanted to take me out on a date."

"What an asshole," Kurt immediately said, and Sebastian couldn't believe that Kurt swore. "What's his name?"

Sebastian just went red as anything. "Thatch?" you know, short for _Thatcher_.

Kurt looked at Sebastian incredulously, his cheeks flushing. "You did _not_ just tattoo that guy's initial on your—"

"Shut up, Hummel," Sebastian's ears went red. Yeah, the _T_ was for his ex-boyfriend. Lame, but whatever. "It's not an obvious tattoo anyway. Plus, I thought my big fat fucking head would get in the way of it in, you know?"

Kurt just shook his head. "Why would you get a tattoo of an asshole's initial behind your ear?"

Sebastian didn't know. Maybe he was spontaneous when he was drunk? He felt good when he got it.

Thatch used to stroke Sebastian's left ear, and just knowing he had that _T_ there was kind of nice…

He was not telling the princess _that!_ Sebastian would gag. It sounded so gay. "I just… I don't know. I didn't think I'd get together with anyone else. Considering your your boyfriend don't wanna cheat on you because he's fucking 'faithful' to you whatever like that's a thing and you know with Dave…never really worked out, I wasn't exactly wrong, you know? The Dave thing kind of still fucking kills me. Great."

Sebastian had Dave-induced asthma. He got that feeling in his chest that he was nothing when he thought about him.

"What about Nate?" of course, Hummel just had to ask about it. He was like a bad rom-com character. Ew.

You'd think Sebastian was so desperate he'd get together with anyone, right? What about this guy that literally won _Best Looking Smile, Most Attractive Body_ and _Sexiest Eyes_ two years in a fucking row in Dalton?

Nate wasn't just pretty. That guy literally had a fucking scholarship to Dalton. He was piss poor. He worked _hard_.

"He's my best friend, princess," Sebastian admitted, his voice soft. He felt bad feeling like nobody gave a shit about him when the assholes in lacrosse admitted to swapping his sugar-free sports drink for fucking full-sugar Gatorade. Fucking animals. "What if… you know, if we get together and it doesn't work out? Then maybe we'll stop talking."

Plus, Sebastian didn't know how if he could risk his relationship with Nate. He was still trying to get better. He was still trying to get over Dave—after he made him feel that… _bad_. If he got together with Nate _now_ , it wouldn't be right. And Nate was _such a good guy_. He didn't deserve Sebastian just playing him because he was insecure about himself.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. Nate was a real good guy. Probably _too_ damn good for him.

Sebastian was sure that Nate was going to find someone better eventually. Someone that didn't lie awake at night, thinking about how scary the soba noodles that he had for lunch was. Someone that didn't got all this baggage carrying around with him. Someone that was nice like him, like the kind of person that wouldn't pick a fight on that guy just because he had a bad day. Sebastian didn't even want to think about being with Nate for a _second_ …

He sometimes called Nate up at three am just to talk to him, just about anything.

Nate's mom accidentally answered the phone a couple of times. She was a nice lady. Like they talked enough that she just called him and asked about how he was doing. If he needed a ride to his doctor's appointment.

He felt bad that he talked to Nate's mom more than his actual mom… who he hadn't called in fucking _weeks_.

She had cancer, and Sebastian wasn't talking to her. He hadn't called his own sister, who was pregnant. His dad was getting a trial. Every time he thought of his own family, he just wanted to climb into bed and never leave.

Whatever. He was a dick. It wasn't that shocking that he didn't even know _where_ her recurrence was.

Or how bad it was. Or what the doc said. She could be fucking dying in that house all alone and he didn't wanna talk to her because he was mad at something that happened in his childhood. He would be the thirty-year-old guy that didn't wanna talk to his mom because his dad was mean to him when he was a kid. _If_ his mom even lived that long…

"What are you thinking about _NOW?"_ Kurt looked irritated. Sebastian had been staring at nothing for ten minutes.

Sebastian just shrugged. He forgot about why he left the house. The smell of doughnuts was making him feel sick now that he was thinking about his dying mom. But also, he wanted to eat them all _AND_ the house. "Some stuff."

"Are you going to eventually tell me about this stuff you're thinking about or keep it to yourself forever?" Gay Face was really cutting to the chase, but Sebastian deserved it. He'd been living at their house for like a few months now, and thus far, he'd gotten so thin that his heart did Warbler flips at five in the morning. And nobody knew about it.

Sebastian just looked down at his thighs, clearing his throat. "To be honest? I ain't sure."

"Fair enough," Kurt replied. They sat there, nodding to each other and they both had sort of this weird mutual respect for that. It was weird, but Sebastian was kind of sure he just had a moment with Pear Hips over there.

The day at Dalton sucked. Everyone was staring at him like he was about to drop dead all day long. People were opening doors for them because he obviously couldn't with how wasted and skinny his hands were. He couldn't walk around with people offering to hold his books for him (which he took, because come on, how many situations was he going to be offered that? He also made one of the guys walk all the way to a Starbucks to get him a caramel macchiato. That guy probably felt like a hero). Fortunately, Sebastian went by that day relatively drama free. When he went to his little show choir, he was amazed by how they continued to be dicks. The guy that replaced him was roided out so much that he smelled like testicular atrophy. Yeah, your dick got small when you took too much of that stuff. Hunter eyed him up and down, and Sebastian felt the urge to suppress the words _at least I didn't starve off my dick, asshole_.

Clarington, you know? Like the last name of the guy that fucked his sister and left her? Yeah, that guy.

Because the Warblers couldn't find anyone else to replace him other than the only guy in the world that already had history with Sebastian _before he even MET him_. Did you know how many students there were in Dalton? Seriously?

Fortunately, out of the kindness of Hunter Clarington's giant muscular heart, Sebastian wasn't asked to leave because he couldn't really do much. His vocal cords have probably wasted along with the rest of his body and his skinny giraffe neck could barely support his big fat head and ego. So instead, Sebastian sat in at show choir practice and watched the gayest display of show choir he'd ever seen in his life whilst he was eating roasted tofu, kale and butternut squash wraps. Yes. _Multiple_. He followed this up with a banana, a pot of this gross apple-cinnamon rice pudding and full-fat chocolate milk. He was grossed out. In twenty minutes, he ate what some people ate for _the whole fucking day_.

Sebastian sometimes ate when he was taking a shit because he didn't want people to know how much he could eat.

That box of doughnuts was giving him delirium. Sebastian thought of replacing packs of soba noodles and bread, because it was inhuman to finish half a loaf of bread. Fortunately, he could pin it on the other lumbering oaf loaf in the house. Ha. Get it? Oaf? Loaf? Loaf of bread? Yeah, it was a shit joke, and it wasn't because Sebastian couldn't technically digest any bread because of his pretty bad gluten intolerance. Maybe that was why his metabolism was over the roof. If he stopped shitting so much of what he ate, _maybe_ he wouldn't look more pregnant than his sister.

He didn't talk much with the rest of the Warblers, because things were sort of awkward with them. Nick and Jeff made small talk with him, trying to pick off where they left off (Sebastian couldn't even remember if he was pissed at them for anything) and Trent was fumbling across his words, sitting beside him. Sebastian didn't know how to feel about any of that. One of the older Warblers sat down beside him and had a normal conversation with him about how he heard about this place in downtown Ohio that was seemed pretty good, you know, for _help_.

"I got plenty of help," Sebastian said. He was a little overwhelmed with the help that he had. Even from Gay Face.

Burt Hummel and his Nazi vision over what he was eating. If he knew how much he was eating, he wouldn't be worried. Sebastian was sick every time he had to step on a scale. Gross.

"It doesn't look like it. You look worse," Nick said to him, and Sebastian rolled his eyes. Thanks. "No offence."

"What the fuck _do you care?"_ Sebastian spat out. He was still a little bitter about the flower thing. People send him flowers, but when their conscious was okay, they stopped doing that without even _talking_ to him. Because he had to be fine if nobody was reading the newspaper about how he died from throwing up so hard he burst a blood vessel. "You like talking about being nice, but you're a fucking dick. You're worse than me because at least I fucking admit it."

"Yeah, I guess I deserve that," Nick replied. "I just—"

 _"Shut up,"_ Sebastian hissed. "I'm sick of your fucking excuses and your fake fucking admissions of guilt."

"Fine," Nick rolled his eyes. Sebastian hoped he had an asthma attack during Regionals. Asshole.

The minute he looked at Nick, sometimes he remembered what he said about his bitch mom and how he didn't give much of a shit about her until she died. The tables were turning because he didn't give a shit about his mom until she said that she got cancer again. He didn't even know _where it was_. He didn't even _call her_ since he knew.

What was he supposed to say? _I don't wanna call because thinking about the stuff that happened to me makes me want to die?_

Lena sometimes visited him, and they talked about loads of stuff. Not the big, fat elephant that Sebastian was trying to stuff into the closet from which he emerged from. Like the stuff that went down with the _BUMU_ Facebook group, or the fact that their mom was alone in the house, probably dying. Or the fact that she didn't know how to take care of a baby. What was he supposed to say anyway? The guy she slept with left her, and his fucking brother was now the head of the Warblers? Sebastian found this kind of funny. Did the Warblers even _know_ that? What self-centered ass—

"Earth to Sebastian," Jeff waved his hand in front of Sebastian's face. "I thought you had a stroke for like a second."

Sebastian shuddered because you had to be a fat fuck to have a stroke, right? He couldn't believe he ate so much.

"Whatever," Sebastian tried to shift his body. His limb felt like a hundred pounds. If he died tomorrow, he didn't have to think about any of that stuff. He was just saying. And people would get over it eventually, okay? He was irked at the thought of go to a counsellor instead of PE. He also felt bad for her. She would probably get fired if he killed himself.

Hunter walked towards them and crossed his arms over his chest. "Who the hell are you?" that guy reeked of more daddy problems that Sebastian had. "And why did you invade my practice without a fucking invitation?"

"Sebastian Smythe," he answered. "I was the captain before, asshole… Andrew was just telling me about this place."

" _OH!_ Yeah," Andrew looked like he just remembered what he was talking about. "This place… um…"

Hunter cocked his head to one side. Yeah. A place for mental people. Sebastian felt like extended an invitation to the new captain, since his older brother managed to bang up his sister and then bolt… great.

"It's not a bad place if you want to check it out. They do the whole positive affirmations thing too. It's mostly girls though—not saying that guys can't… well…uh—" Andrew told him, to which Sebastian absentmindedly nodded his head at to him. "But you're friends with Nathan Barnes, right? He knows where this place is so he should be able to take you there if you ask. Because I think that it's kind of funny that he didn't mention it to you."

Sebastian _did_ find it a little funny that he didn't mention it to him. Not _ha ha_ funny but like… weird funny.

"Yeah, I guess," Sebastian tried to calm his man tits down because it wasn't like Nate owed him, right? In fact, he owed Nate. He didn't have to know everything about this guy for him to be his friend, right?

He just locked eyes with Hunter for a while. Because he didn't know what he was supposed to feel about this guy.

"Have something to say before you go?" Clarington could at least read irritation better than any of these idiots. "You're getting on my nerves, staring at me like I'm committing a crime."

"I didn't know that steroids were legal," Sebastian replied.

Hunter rolled his eyes. "You got a big mouth for a guy that won't eat." He said. "What's on your mind, Smythe?"

"A lot of stuff are on _my mind_ , Clarington," Sebastian stood up from his seat, which would look way cooler if he didn't have to pack his books and stuff. Kind of anticlimactic. "Like how your brother managed to knock up my sister? And out of _ALL_ the people that the Warblers could fucking replace me with, they had to let the guy that literally shared blood with the guy that fucked up my sister's life? How fucking considerate of these _NICE_ people."

Nick, Jeff and Trent went so damn red. Sebastian didn't care about this, but he just wanted to have a good reason to go off on them. He had no interest in show choir since he knew he couldn't really do crazy flips after all the knee surgeries that he had. And he was also pissed he couldn't run, do lacrosse or… any of the stuff he _liked_ to do.

Yeah. He liked the dancing part way more than he liked the singing part. Was _that_ shocking? Maybe.

"Last time I checked, just because I share blood with someone doesn't mean anything, or I'd accuse you of being an abusive asshole," Hunter just shrugged. That guy looked old. Was he really a teenager? "Isn't that right, Smythe?"

The Warblers balked at Hunter, as if he said something unholy. Sebastian just rolled his eyes, because he didn't really mind it. He had a point, and Sebastian didn't have a reason to have any beef with Clarington (the last thing the mini Hulk needed was more _beef_ by the way) when he really should be bitching about his brother. Plus, he guessed Hunter had to be a teenager since Dalton was strict after not managing to notice Sebastian dying from an eating disorder… and enrolling him in the wrong class. You'd think they'd care more when Jean Smythe was a big name, right?

Sebastian snorted. "Wow. When did I have the time to be a fucking abusive cunt between all the injuries?"

Hunter just smiled at him. And Sebastian had this mini moment that two assholes like them got when they totally understood where they were coming from. "Well, _I'm_ being verbally abused right now! All these accusations!" Sebastian half-smirked, and then decided that maybe he liked Hunter—at least, enough to want to talk to him again. He must've gotten the _WRONG_ message because he said, "By the way, I'm not even remotely bicurious." 

Sebastian rolled his eyes. " _I_ have standards, Clarington," he said. He was nice, because he could've just said that he didn't take guys that took so many 'roids that they practically had a prolapsed vagina for a dick.

They didn't talk much, but Hunter walked him out which was the universal sign that he wanted to sneak in some more time with Sebastian. Hunter even walked him to lacrosse practice after they were done. There was no way the coach was letting him play, but Sebastian still refused to let Knocked-Knee Lee try to captain his fucking team. Sebastian didn't need to run around to bark orders at these monkeys that had zero total limb coordination. Nate was so surprised at seeing Sebastian on the bench that Jake accidentally hit him with a lacrosse stick. That was _50 Shades of Blue_ that Barnes completely deserved if he was going to stand there looking tongue-tied every time Sebastian gave out a play.

Practice was awful. What Sebastian lacked in musical gains and trophies, he totally had in lacrosse victories. It seemed like every time he lost another game to the Nude Erections, he won one in lacrosse or track. By the way, _WHERE_ was his long-winded articles about how inspiring it was that he had all those knee surgeries and he could still walk in a straight line even when he was playing drunk? Some people didn't appreciate _anything_.

By the time that everyone was cooling off, Sebastian was still huffing and puffing. He nearly went into cardiac arrest when one of the guys accidentally scored on their wrong side of the fucking field because he 'couldn't focus'. Sebastian's brain probably stopped after he lost the millionth pound but even _he_ could understand the simple concept of _scoring a fucking goal_. At least he didn't have to worry about that guy accidentally getting his girlfriend pregnant. He wouldn't know where to put his dick in. And even if he did, he doubted his spunk could make the harrowing journey.

"What the hell was that?" Sebastian told Nate when they had a break. Nate was soaked in sweat, and glaring at Hunter, who was on his phone, maliciously and evilly playing _Words with Friends_. "I didn't know the rest of the fucking team also managed to bust their kneecaps when I was gone. I hope you fucking stay blue for the rest of the month, asshole."

"Should you really be here, Captain?" Nate smirked a little. "Don't you have better stuff to do with your time?"

"To _do?"_ Sebastian smirked, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't know. Do you know anyone in Ohio that scores more than a four on the sexy scale? Because even the coffee hasn't been making the mark."

"You break my scale," Nate replied, and then went red because he wasn't used to flirting. Sebastian went a little red too, because that was literally the lamest thing he ever heard. "I mean… the hotness scale, not my—fucking weighing scale, the one that won't even register a fucking weight if you step on it because you're… uh—man, _fucking kill me_."

"That could probably be arranged," Hunter replied. Yeah, scary. Military guy. "Is everyone in this school gay?"

"Who the fuck are you?" Nate looked weirded out. "And don't worry. No gay guy is going to sleep with a guy with tits."

Sebastian just laughed, because if there was a guy that could sort of subtly imply that Sebastian would break a scale, it was Nate. Anyone else say anything like that and Sebastian might stop eating for like five days.

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "This is Hunter Clarington."

"Clarington?" it registered in Nate's head and he was about to hit to him, but Hunter was so hopped off from all the steroids he'd been inhaling that he could probably break Nate's hand just by looking at it. "Like the Clarington that…? Fuck, Sebastian. Do you just find the biggest assholes in the world and then decide to do try and befriend them?"

"I'm not an asshole. I'm just keeping _my friend_ some company," Hunter probably didn't even think of them as friends since they literally met five minutes ago, but Sebastian was sure that he said that just to grind Nate's gears. Which were super easy to grind. "Shouldn't I be the one that's offended after you told me I need some boulder holders?"

Not that Sebastian had ever tried to grind Nate's gears. Or any guy from the lacrosse team. Great. Now, _he_ was fucking doing it in his head.

 _"You're not his fucking friend,"_ Nate spat out coldly, his eyes twitching from rage.

"Chill, Barnes. I can take care of myself. I'm a big boy now. I can suck all the cock I want. And I _have_ ," Sebastian was sure that the more he talked about sex, the more he got Nate flustered. Sometimes, he wondered if Nate was gay, or if he thought that fitted his description more than being straight did. "It's very nutritious by the way."

Hunter looked grossed out. "You ain't sucking anything off me."

"Please," Sebastian crossed his arms. "Like I'm getting together with a guy named _Hunter Clarington_."

"Good," Nate replied, and then flushed. This was just getting worse and worse. "Uh…"

Sebastian got up from where he was standing. "Alright, guys, I'm heading back to the delicate Hummelbird's house, alright?" He had to take a long shower and jack off to let out some of his post-practice frustrations.

"Sure," Nate cleared his throat. "Yeah. That's… I'll just walk you to your car and—"

"I don't need an escort," Sebastian said, only for Nate to fumble even more.

"I didn't say you do," Nate was practically gleaming with sweat. Guys like Nate glowed when they sweat.

Sebastian turned to leave but Nate just grabbed his hand and then twirled him around, which was gay.

 _"What are you doing?"_ Sebastian asked. Nate looked like he was about to confess to his weird fetishes.

"Hey," Nate's hand was sweaty, and Sebastian was pretty grossed out. Guys sharing sweat was somehow even gayer to him than sleeping with guys. Nate laughed, because he thought it was funny that Sebastian didn't like how sweaty he was. Sebastian didn't think it was funny, and if he didn't move his hand in like three seconds, he was going to kill him. "There was something I just… I just… I wanted to ask—before you know…"

"I didn't know you had asthma," Sebastian replied, and then smacked his hand away. "What do you want?"

 _"Go out with me,"_ Nate spat out almost instantly. "I mean… you know, Kurt told me about—"

" _Of course, he did_ ," Sebastian wasn't even the least bit surprised. He would have to admit that he was a little surprised that the Gay Face could keep his mouth shut for like longer than three seconds. "Look, I just want to…"

"No," Nate said, and Sebastian looked mildly surprised. "You think way too fucking much. I want to take you out. And if it blows up in my face, then I'm not going to stop being your friend. You just don't choose _not_ to like someone overnight, right?" Sebastian was sure that Nate got him _there_. Because Sebastian still sort of liked Dave.

Nate grabbed Sebastian's hand. "I will be your first date, Smythe."

"Seriously?" Hunter snorted. "You've never been on a date before? Because I heard that you suck loads of cock."

Even the new guy knew. Sebastian just rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and I'm not desperate enough to suck _yours_."

"Sebastian?" Nate was kind of waiting for an answer, and Sebastian just cleared his throat. "Come on, just give me—"

Sebastian went red this time. Now, the lacrosse team was staring and the whole world knew that he'd never been on a date. "You'll be my last fucking date if you keep on talking like that, Romeo," he said.

"Does that mean…?" Nate rubbed his neck . The beads of sweat on him were multiplying.

"Yeah," Sebastian moved his hand away. He wasn't used to any romantic gestures, and he kind of felt like he should at least put the ball in his court. The lacrosse ball that was. Did you see these guys playing? Yeah. It was _BAD_.

"Wow," Nate said, looking at Sebastian with a surprised facial expression. "Really?"

Sebastian snorted, because _Nate_ sounded like he was the one going on his first date. Had Nate ever been out with a guy before? He was sure he took like two people to a dance last year. Pretty people too, like him.

"Seven. Tomorrow. Ohio mall. Movies. I'm buying," Sebastian said. "I'm picking the movie. There's a list of like five places I don't mind eating at that won't give me amoebic dysentery because that mall is fucking disgusting. If you fucking touch me without my permission, I'm going to do more than smack your hand off me. Got it?"

Nate looked like he was beaming. "Can I hug you?" he looked like he was dying to.

Sebastian snorted. "Yeah right," he crossed his arms over his chest. "That's fucking gay, loser."

Nate moved to hug him anyway, and Sebastian felt an immediate need to cancel whatever plans that he had with this guy. After taking a whiff of that guy, Sebastian then said, _"And wear some fucking cologne for fuck's sake."_


	45. Chapter 45

_hey guys... i think this fanfiction will be coming to a close soon. in either way, i want to say that i have two ideas for another Sebastian fanfiction to do after this. here are the summaries for both. almost most of my fanfictions are post On My Way, because it's post the Karofsky thing and Sebastian deciding to be nice without all the New York drama. but anyway..._

 _Summary: AU after "On My Way." Kurt and Blaine are more than surprised to see Sebastian really attempt at being nice. His supportive parents feel relieved that Sebastian has gone off his rebellious phase. The Warblers become close friends with their semi-decent captain. Nobody thought it was suspicious… not until Sebastian has a seizure. Apparently, brain tumours could change your personality? No pairing decided yet._

 _Summary: AU after "On My Way." After a night out in Scandals where Sebastian becomes physically and sexually assaulted by three beefy men, he is forced to deal with the aftermath when fuzzy videos of the assault goes viral—especially when the encounter doesn't /look/ non-consensual. But there's just something about the whole thing that make Kurt and Blaine feel sick._

 _author's note at the end about where this chapter was heading at.  
_

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Forty-Five

* * *

"Where are you going?" Kurt looked up from his tabloid trash long enough to notice Sebastian wasn't in sweats.

"I got a date with Nate," Sebastian said, looking at the mirror. Grey pants, grey blazer, white shirt, white shoes. It didn't really go with his ashen-grey skin. He looked like a white guy account dying from tuberculosis.

Did you know how hard it was to find smart-looking clothes that _fit_ him?

"You have a date with _WHO?"_ Kurt threw the magazine aside. "When were you going to tell me _THAT?"_

Sebastian rolled his eyes. He should go back to the bad sitcom that he had emerged out of.

"What do you care who I have a date with? Were you going to help me out, Gay Face?" Sebastian groaned, because he wasn't exactly going to take advice from a guy that wore socks with avocado drawings on them. It wasn't like Gay Face was going to lend him money (maybe because Kurt knew 100% that Sebastian wasn't ever going to pay him back). He _did_ , however, tell Burt just so he wouldn't hunt him down past his curfew (yuck. Sebastian never even had a curfew before. It was _so_ lame). "Do I look alright, princess? Would you bone me?"

Tonight was actually one of the few times where he was a little freaked out about how skinny he was. Looking at the mirror, he wondered how much nicer he'd look if he didn't have completely sunken cheekbones and a wasted face.

"I'm sure he doesn't care about how you look," Kurt said. Translation: _you look like crap, but I'm not telling you that._

Sebastian rolled his eyes. Asshole. It was weight discrimination, wasn't it? If Kurt didn't find him attractive… _I don't wanna sleep with you because I think you'd nearly die if I tried to._ Especially since sucking cock was nutritious.

"If you want to look better," Kurt grabbed his magazine again, "You'd have to put on at least forty pounds."

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "I do not need to put on forty pounds," he was grossed out. "Have you ever tried to carry forty pounds at the gym? You know how fucking heavy they are?" his feeble arms couldn't even do thirty. _Forty?_ Forget it.

"You're right," Kurt said, his sarcasm heavy in his voice. "Fifty," he decided.

Sebastian looked back at his body. Maybe ten, he decided. _Ten_ he could do. _Ten_ maybe could make his legs look less like they were going to snap when he walked downstairs. But he also knew his psych wouldn't go for ten.

Dr Karofsky wouldn't be happy until he was back on the insulin and dying in the hospital from heart failure.

His jacket was thicker than Hudson's head, which was great because he was still cold. Not dying from frostbite in the middle of the summer cold, but even normal people found the movie theatre a little cold sometimes, right? Sebastian kept on looking at the mirror. His whole eating disorder thing wasn't about looking good, but it kind of sucked when you really did want to look good and you couldn't. There were times where Sebastian felt like when he refused to eat a meal, he was pretty much eating away at little bits of his life… like being able to take a shower without vertigo or being able to stand without feeling like he was going to collapse or die. Or having your heart not beat funny.

He pretty much reeked of male privilege, dressed like a fucking white-chocolate covered marshmallow gone rouge.

Sebastian was at the mall by like five. Yeah, two hours earlier than he told Nate that he was going to be at. He didn't feel so hot going out these days because people gave him that look, like you were either dying from something or you were about to fall over, and they wanted to be the first to Snapchat it. Sebastian had a bag with him, which he had these good Parisian chocolates (they so weren't out of date). His mom sent him these like a month ago, but he couldn't really eat them. So giving them to Nate worked in his favour in two ways. Because currently, all he wanted to do was _binge_ on them. At least Nate would have a little taste of the Duty Free from France, right? But just so Sebastian wasn't repackaging all the gifts he had, he also got flowers for Nate. He tried to figure out which flowers looked the lamest. He figured his go-to baby's breaths weren't really the best go-to flowers right then. He bought white flowers and stuffed them into the bag. He was not good at this. He didn't even remember the last time he gave someone a gift.

Then because he had like one and a half hours to go, Sebastian finally bit the bullet and called his mom.

The conversation was pretty good actually. His mom told him that her recurrence was in her spine, but the chemotherapy was working out great for her. She asked about how far along Lena was (Sebastian didn't know but she looked like she was ready to pop any minute) and if he needed anything. She asked if he knew what happened to his dad after the trial, but Sebastian didn't even know that the trial took place. Lena went by, but they said that the verdict was weird. What do you fucking mean weird? It was either he was guilty, or he _wasn't_ , right?

"You know… you're welcome to come back home any time that you want," his mom told him, and Sebastian had a feeling that it was sort of going to be something like what they had before. His mom waking him up at an ungodly hour and trying to feed him cholesterol-ridden eggs, and oatmeal with enough sugar to kill someone.

Sebastian just smiled, because what was he going to say to his dying mother? All he wanted to do was ask about _her weight._ Yeah, seriously. He was such a fucking prick for even thinking about it, much less it being all that he was thinking about. How sick his mom must be. How she was probably skipping meals when he was busy out here in the Hummel household stuffing himself. Sebastian felt like he was overstaying his welcome in the Hummel household. He was half-surprised every time that he walked in there that Burt didn't throw him out, you know?

"Call me after you're done with the movies," Nathalie told him firmly. "I missed talking to you."

"I barely said a fucking thing," Sebastian replied, only for his mom to laugh. Because she missed him that much that she didn't even care if he swore in front of her face. She was pretty used to it right now anyway.

"I love you," she said, and Sebastian was a dick because he didn't say it back. His mom could die today, and he would have to live with the fact that he didn't tell his dying, cancer ridden mom that _he loved her_ on their last phone convo.

Since he was there early, he scored some tickets. He was looking for the worst movies possible, and then picked something where the title was barely English. When Sebastian went to pay, he was surprised to be greeted by Hunter Clarington at the popcorn and soda stand, who was smirking at him.

"Look what the cat dragged in," Hunter said. "Probably mistook you for a tall bird with an alcohol problem."

 _That_ was lame. "I still look better than you," Sebastian snorted. "Were you specifically looking for a job where you're in all black so nobody would question your fragile straight cis white male ego?" he asked.

Hunter looked at his clothes. He was in all black, because he was pretty sure that as much as Sebastian hated feminine things, Hunter hated them even more. That was why he obviously still chugged down his mom's breast milk so that his bones would still grow. How sad. "Ha ha _ha_ , Sebastian, you are fucking hilarious."

In another time and place, Sebastian would totally get together with someone like Hunter, even though he knew that there was no way in the world that they'd have a real relationship. Maybe he could convince Hunter to sleep with him, and then their relationship would be weird afterwards. If this was a date with any other guy, Sebastian would've flirted with Hunter even if it meant that he was breaking off his date with said another guy. But _this_ was his first real relationship with someone that was… you know, _decent_. And Sebastian would admit he was fucking petrified.

Sebastian didn't _know_ how to deal with any feelings he might have for someone that wouldn't treat him like crap.

Yeah, he knew that if he got together with Hunter, it'll be weird between him and his sister. But that was what he would've done anyway, because he subconsciously wanted to screw everyone that ever fucked up his life, you know? But Sebastian was screwing _himself_ most of all. There was no bigger fuck-you than the endless strings of one-night stands that he had coupled with the real realisation that he didn't know what a real relationship was even _like_.

"Smythe, are you okay?" Hunter asked, looking worried. Yeah, that wasn't real and Sebastian knew it.

"Thanks," Sebastian felt like he just ate the whole concussion stand. He felt sick. "I'll see you. Bye."

Sebastian walked away from the stand and felt weird about the whole thing. Because this was so _new_ to him.

He sat down at the bench just outside of the theatre, staring at the crowds and contemplating everything that he'd ever known. He'd never felt so damn vulnerable. Sebastian was used to being sent to the hospital, being cheated at, lied to, and he was used to letting people walk all over him. Feeling the knots twisting into his stomach, he felt like he could barely breathe. With every ticking moment past seven, he felt his hands shaking. At seven-oh-eight, Sebastian convinced himself that there was _no way_ that Nate was going to come. There was no fucking way that…

Look. He got why someone would want to be with the princess, but why would anyone ever want to be _with him?_

By the time that it was seven-fifteen, Sebastian got up to bolt because he wasn't going to stay here waiting all night. He had managed to convince himself in the past quarter-hour that Nate wasn't coming, and that he was going to be waiting for him until ten if he didn't bolt. And their movie started like ten minutes ago.

When he was just about to leave, he almost ran into Nate standing there, looking like he just stepped out of a photoshoot. It didn't matter what Sebastian was wearing, because he was seriously underdressed. Nate obviously missed the memo when he said that he was going to a crappy cinema, and not a candlelit dinner for two in the deep heart of Paris. Nate looked like he was about to star in a Bond film or walk down a runaway. _That_ was how good looking he was. He placed his hands on Sebastian's shoulders, and then firmly looked at him.

"Sorry I'm late," Nate said, and then flushed a little bit. "I was looking for a guy in sweats."

"Ha _ha_ ," Sebastian rolled his eyes. Was Nate checking him out? That always weirded him out, because it made him wonder if Nate was one of those guys that said they wanted you to gain weight, but sort of were turned on by your skeletal…ness. Because right now, Sebastian was wondering what the fucking catch was with Nate.

"You look good," Nate said. Almost as if he could read his mind, "But it's better if I saw the rest of you…eventually."

He knew 'the rest of him' was 'the rest of his weight', but Sebastian just smirked. " _Maybe_ if you play your cards right."

When Sebastian got handsy—wrapping his hands around Nate's shoulder and then inching in closer with him, Nate almost got red because obviously, he wanted to do this the right way. Or he had a small dick, which… would probably make Sebastian laugh more than turn him off. Hey. Sebastian already considered this, and he just realised that they could have sex with a dildo for the rest of eternity if they were _real soulmates_. Aw. Yeah, grow up.

Sebastian felt weird for buying white flowers now. Cause they were sort of wedding-y. Nick got him purple ones, and they were little ones too. And Sebastian felt so fucking gay for liking that. He just wished he could…

"Sebastian, I want a date," Nate reminded him. "Not a two-cent hookup in a movie theatre."

"They aren't the same thing?" Sebastian was just kidding, but he inched away. Yeah. He could feel Nate's boner. He was not small unless he was trying to sneak in packets of Whoppers into the cinema (which Sebastian was doing).

Nate then moved in to almost kiss him, and then completely moved away. "Come on. We're late."

Sebastian looked annoyed. "Asshole," he said, seeing that Nate was just playing with him. Fuck him.

He passed Nate the bag he got him and then stared at his new purple flowers , feeling his cheeks colour in. Why was he getting flowers for again anyway? Sebastian wished that he could talk. He recognised the smell. Lavender. Sebastian couldn't believe how gay this was. There was no way a straight white guy was ever going to give a chick lavender flowers if she didn't explicitly ask for them and even then, he'd screw it up just so he didn't increase his gayness factor by 534%). He bet that straight guys even rubbed them with cologne, so they didn't smell like a chick's bath bomb.

The movie was pretty damn bad. This was what Sebastian was expecting to but instead of laughing, he felt… different.

He felt weird because he saw Nate like a friend, but he was out on date with him. That was just… weird to him.

Nate was sitting there in a fucking suit, like they were going to prom. His flowers looked like crap next to Nate's, and he just felt gross and underdressed. He felt too fat and too thin and kept oscillating between these two emotions. He looked up the meaning of lavender on his phone, but he didn't know what to feel about it. It wasn't exactly an admission of his undying love. Sebastian was squirming in his seat, kind of wishing the night would be over.

When Sebastian started shivering because he understated how cold it would be, Nate had blankets.

Sebastian was weirded out before Nate just shrugged and said, "I kind of knew you'd be cold."

"Thank you, Romeo," Sebastian couldn't believe it. What the fuck? Who bought in blankets because they thought that your date would be cold? He was kind of waiting for the bomb to drop and Nate to tell him he did that for a joke.

"Did you sneak in Whoppers to the movie?" Nate said, in a whisper. Because it was illegal.

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Yes, I sneaked in food," he said as loudly as possible, making some lady look back at them and tell them to shut up because she was obviously enjoying something that would rate negative on Rotten Tomatoes.

"Sebastian," Nate looked tense. As if any moment now the police would escort them to jail for sneaking food in.

Sebastian popped one of the Whoppers into his mouth and chewed very loudly. He knew that if he kept this up, he was probably going to get kicked out. Nate was so red that he looked like he was going to have a panic attack.

"I hate you," Nate decided to say. Sebastian only chewed louder. _"Sebastian."_

They didn't talk that much more, but you weren't supposed to be talking in movies anyway. At some point, the security did ask him to lower his voice, but Sebastian gave him his best shocked, sad beaten-down kid look and he got away with it. Instead, he managed to get the poor lady kicked out of the theatre for offending _the sick kid_.

"You are an awful person," Nate told him, because Sebastian didn't already know.

"Whatever," Sebastian said, and then grabbed Nate's popcorn to eat more. "Hunter looks good in black." He said that deliberately because he took a lot of pleasure in watching Nate cough so loudly that someone offered to do the Heimlich manouvere. Yeah, Sebastian would like to see that. Nothing too gay about that manouvere, right? He bet that the first time someone inventing that, he had different intentions that helping a person that was choking out…

"You don't," Nate told him, because that was so mean. Telling the fakorexic he looked bad in black. "What the…"

Sebastian was just seeing how far he could push his luck. Because he pulled out a joint. He wasn't going to smoke it inside the theatre, because… well, he didn't want to get the munchies, okay? He ate a lot. Even Nate didn't know how much Sebastian could pack away if he wanted to. He could probably finish Nate's bucket, a big thing of soda, at least two bags of these Whoppers, and nachos and still be thinking about what he was going to eat for dinner.

"Sebastian," Nate let out this strangled cry of pain.

"Save that for when we smash later," Sebastian then proceeded to ask Nate if he saw that video where there was that bird that kept saying that he'll _smash_ this other bird, and when Nate said that he didn't see that, Sebastian managed to fish his phone out of his pocket to show Nate, who was annoyed at Sebastian for not just ruining his movie experience but everyone else's in that goddamn theatre. But they couldn't kick Sebastian out because he looked like he was dying.

Sebastian didn't know who put out a cigarette on Nate's butthole, because he was in a good mood.

"I wish that the lacrosse team swapped that Gatorade for Ensures," Nate mumbled. "That I should've fucking infused with fat gaining powders and mixed with bottles of Yoo-Hoo." Sebastian just snorted and crossed his arms.

Did you know You-Hoo called itself a _chocolate drink?_ Because it wasn't real chocolate. Or milk.

Sebastian almost fell asleep by the end of the movie. That was how relaxed he was. He placed his head against Nate's shoulder, who was too pissed at him to care, which just put Sebastian into an even better mood.

In the middle of one of the movies, Sebastian's heart started doing that funny thing. He tried to ignore it like he usually did but he was starting to sweat underneath the blankets and he literally thought that he was having a heart attack. Which, of course, made him feel like a disgusting, three-hundred-pound animal because what sixteen-year-old (almost seventeen. Fucking finally) was afraid of getting a _heart attack_ , you know?

By the time that they got out of the theatre, his heart was still doing that weird thing. He ignored it completely.

"I'm going to go take a piss," Sebastian told Nate, smiling at him. Nate looked disgusted, because the toilets here were gross, but as long as he didn't have any spiders popping out, Sebastian was used to pissing in dirty bathrooms.

Sebastian walked out of the movie theatre, outside to where the mall was mostly empty because it was a school night. And the mall was sort of gross, and the seats could probably give you back pain. Popcorn was pretty much the best that Sebastian ever had though. Too bad, you know, that he didn't eat most of Nate's bucket. He felt so nauseated that he wasn't seeing straight. He went to the nearest, emptiest and dirties bathroom that he could find and then dialed Kurt Hummel's number. With his hands sweaty, he waited for Kurt to answer him back.

First call. Nothing. Second. Nothing. By the third call, if Kurt didn't answer him, he was going to be—

"Sebastian?" Kurt sounded tired. He probably woke him up from his nap, you know, which was part of his very important beauty sleep. "Sebastian, what's wrong? Did something happen on your date?"

Sebastian didn't even know why he called or what he was going to say. "No," he said, sounding pathetic.

 _No, my date is great._ Nate got fucking blankets because he thought that Sebastian might get cold. Only nice people did that. Nate was really too good. He barely ate that day, but it wasn't even on purpose. He didn't even actively hate himself for eating or not eating. It just genuinely slipped his mind, so he was starting to feel a little lightheaded too.

"Whatever crazy thing you've cocked up in your head," Kurt slowly started to talk. He was speaking carefully, as if Sebastian was a fucking moron, which to be honest, he could be. "Forget about it. Go back to your date."

Sebastian felt a little relieved, but then he felt bad for calling the Lady Face in the first place. "Sure."

 _You're not going to have a fucking heart attack_ , Sebastian told himself. _Got it?_

He ended the phone call and managed to force himself back outside, where Nate looked like he was a second away from either looking for him or calling the police because he thought he might be abducted. The thing was that Sebastian now actually _did_ need to piss, but he couldn't say that now, could he? Sebastian almost felt drowsy because whenever he felt the pain, he'd fall asleep—or try to—just to ignore how it felt like, you know?

When Nate woke him up, Sebastian didn't actually feel any better. He felt _worse_.

Because of how bad he felt, all Sebastian wanted to do was… eat. The second they passed by this ice-cream place, Sebastian bought the biggest, fattest milkshake that he could find. The kind that had a whole day's worth of calories in one large shake. The kind that had melted a whole pint of ice-cream with milk. Never had there been a more fattening vehicle in the whole wide world and Sebastian was sucking his daily calories _through a straw_. What an invention.

"Do you mind if we go eat outside of this place?" Nate asked. "I thought I wouldn't have a problem but…"

"Yeah," Sebastian replied. Public schools were gross, but he could piss in a toilet that hadn't been washed since 1999.

As they walked to Nate's car, Sebastian took out his phone and he was texting Kurt: _my heart feels weird_ , but he didn't send it. He then double-spaced and continued to write. _If I croak, bury me in my favourite sweats_. Yeah, how nice.

He wanted to say more. Sebastian wanted to somehow tell Kurt how he really felt about everything. He knew he should technically tell his date, but he didn't want to ruin Nate's good time by bringing up that he felt sort of weird in the heart, you know? It might hurt his feelings. He doubted Nate would just sit there and be like: _that's just your heart aching for my body_. Yeah. No. Nate had a scholarship because his family was poor. He supported his mom after their dad left them. He had a part-time job that he _quit_ so he could see Sebastian. He volunteered at an animal shelter and posted pictures of cats that needed to be adopted on Instagram. _That_ was the kind of guy Nate was.

There was no way that he was ruining this date for him.

As he sipped his milkshake, he saw Nate looking at him. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.

"I…I just ain't used to this," Sebastian admitted. "I mean… a date and stuff. But I think I'm enjoying myself." He smirked, thinking about all that crap that he did in that theatre. It kind of made him feel amazing.

Nate looked annoyed. "Yeah, you're enjoying yourself," he smiled. "As far as dates go, this far? This one is great."

Sebastian was smiling a little and looked down at his feet. "Want to share a joint?"

 _"No!"_ was Nate's immediate response, to which Sebastian just laughed. But then his laugh died down prematurely, because he felt like he was either going to vomit, collapse or die. _Fortunately_ , neither of those things happened.

Sebastian let Nate use his car to drive him back here, with the plan that he was driving him back to the mall afterwards so that Sebastian could pick up his car. Well… at least, that was the original plan. In the car, Sebastian looked up his father's name, because he sort of knew what happened. There was no way his father got to jail that was for sure. Sebastian read the papers— _framed for hitting his son, blah blah blah, he had an abusive boyfriend that followed him all the way from France abusive uncles_ … way to drag his own brother's name through the mud, right? Sebastian didn't feel much reading it, because he didn't think his dad was going to go to jail for anything.

Sebastian read this article where he went into detail about Sebastian's closeted abuse. Do you understand how funny that play on words were? Sebastian just snorted, and then turned to stare at the road. No wonder nobody told him about it, since it wasn't exactly good news. He felt bad for Gay Face and Nate. They probably watched enough cop movies and read enough pretty books to think that you always got your just desserts. Sometimes, it didn't happen.

Feeling sort of at peace with the stuff that happened in the last few years, Sebastian decided that maybe it was just time to go back to his house, you know? He just wanted to attend Dalton and be a regular kid. He almost wanted to put on the weight, just to be normal again. To be part of the Warblers. To convince his coach even with all those knee surgeries—even if he was walking there with _knee replacements_ , that he could _do it_ …

Sebastian relaxed into his car, and then felt his heart rate get faster and faster. But he didn't say anything. He didn't think that he want to ruin such a great night by saying anything. He closed his eyes and… fell asleep.

* * *

 _okay, i kind of want everyone to know about the last sentence already... because it's sort of ominous. you already probably guessed what i was actually aiming for that chapter. if i do a hospital-based chapter, it'll be the third time i'd have Sebastian hospitalised in the 45 chapter fanfiction which is literally the only reason i'm deciding not to do it. if i don't, then it's kind of obvious which route i'd take it (ahem*coughspoiler*character death*coughspoiler*). i mention it so it wouldn't be too shocking if i go that route. there's two ways this can go. either way, the fanfiction will only be a few more chapters. what do you guys think?_

 _if i do decide to keep him alive, there's a chance i could do a few more chapters into the future but that would totally mean extending this fanfiction up to 10-15 more chapters. so... again, it's dependable on what you guys want because i really cannot decide where i want to go with this. i have ideas, just not solid ones!  
_


	46. Chapter 46

_i went with the majority comments that said that they would prefer if he didn't die, so i decided to go that route._

 _i also wrote the next chapter (that i need to edit and hence why i didn't post) and it is heavily going into a Kurtbastian route with how things are going... but i'll see. there's a chance that i won't pair him with anyone, because this Sebastian needs a lot of time to figure himself out._

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Forty-Six

* * *

Nate turned to Sebastian, who had fallen asleep in his car. He looked so serene and calm, relaxed. After he parked his car, he turned to wake Sebastian up by shaking him a little. "Hey, Seb," his voice was soft. "Wake up."

He expected to hear an annoying grunt from him, something that said _leave me alone_. He didn't hear _anything_.

"Sebastian?" Nate's voice rose a few octaves. "Come on, Seb… you're fucking scaring me."

Nate shook Sebastian up again, and then freaked out when Sebastian didn't even move. He turned to feel for his pulse, which was weak. His chest was _barely moving_ , and Nate felt sick that he didn't realise this any time soon.

Sebastian was probably dying in his car and he didn't even _notice_. Oh God, oh God, oh God… Nate's heart raced.

"Hey, _nononononno_ ," Nate's voice was quivering. "Seb? _Baby?_ S… Sebastian? _SEB… SEBASTIAN?"_

His voice was high, and squeaky, and he was shaking Sebastian so fast all he did was probably manage to destroy what ever brain cells that he had inside of his head. You know, the brain cells in his head that probably felt something before he fell asleep. Nobody just _suddenly_ started dying when they took a nap, right? Sebastian must've felt something before—maybe like a feeling of impending doom—but just decided not to tell him. Because no sixteen-year-old died just like that. Even old people that died of heart attacks had chest pain before they died, you know? And why he didn't tell him? Nate didn't know, but Sebastian was so in the closet about his feelings that he probably didn't want to spoil the fucking night by letting Nate know he felt like he was _dying_. Which he currently, evidently, was.

After twenty seconds of freaking out, Nate called 911, and then he sat Sebastian flat on the ground.

 _GET UP GET UP GET UP GET UP!_ Nate was screaming in his head, his hands shaking.

Nate tried to remember the CPR training that he learned about a year ago, because it was sort of the only thing that could keep him alive until the ambulance was going to come. And Sebastian didn't think that he could drive that fast and get Sebastian into the hospital on time. He didn't want to fuck this up, okay? Nate pressed his hands against Sebastian's skeletal chest, trying to do chest compressions. He wished that Sebastian got tubed against his will because nothing could be as bad as _this_. He wished that Sebastian could suddenly look like a normal human being instead of this dying corpse that was already decomposing. He just looked sicker and sicker every time that he saw him…

"Hey, hey," Nate called out loudly, because voice would succeed where violent presses failed. "Baby, _talk_ to me?"

Nate felt his heart stop in his chest because between breaths and chest compressions, he pressed down so hard on Sebastian's too-thin body that he'd heard something _crack_ underneath his fingers. _Holy shit. No. Fuckfuckfuckfuck._

"I'm sorry," Nate said the second he heard Sebastian's rib crack. "Shit. Fuck… I'm sorry."

Sebastian was practically blue and all he'd done so far in the last five minutes was break his rib. What if he killed him not because he didn't do CPR but because he accidentally broke his rib when he was trying to do CPR?

 _You can't DIE_ , Nate told himself. _You can't fucking die out on the street like this. I won't let you. I won't… I…_

Nate was kind of freaking out. This wasn't the kind of adrenaline he was hoping this date would have!

 _At one point in the evening would you have gone 'I feel like I'm dying so… yeah, take me to the hospital?'_ Nate wondered.

By the time that the ambulance came in like ten minutes because they were 'close' (what took them so fucking long? Nate nearly pissed his pants), Nate felt guilty as hell for taking up space in the ambulance to stay with Sebastian.

He grabbed one of the guys and told him: "He's anorexic. He just… I don't know… stopped breathing in my car."

Nate watched the crew do the kind of CPR that would probably not break anymore of his ribs. He was going from shockingly blue to something that had less colour than a Smurf. Nate was just standing aside, trying to hold himself together. "Hey," he said to Sebastian's form. "You're strong, okay? You're… you're going to pull through this."

The Sebastard didn't say anything. He was too busy being unconscious and dying.

"Fuck you, self-centered asshole," Nate said in a quiet whisper. "When you wake up, I'm going to kill you." _If… IF he woke up.  
_

When they _defibrillated_ Sebastian, Nate felt like his whole world was falling apart. This wasn't a fucking joke. His head was pounding, and he felt weak in the knees. _Let me just shock you back into life!_ That wasn't worrying at all!

After standing there being useless, Nate decided that the least he could do was call his mom, Lena and Kurt. He didn't have Sebastian's mom or Lena's number, so he picked up Sebastian's phone. And he froze when he saw that Sebastian had his WhatsApp open and was writing out a message to Kurt that he didn't fucking send. A message he wrote over a whole fucking hour ago that contained a very important piece of information that Sebastian didn't even _mention_.

 _My heart feels weird._

 _If I croak, bury me in my favourite sweats._ Nate felt his whole world shatter because Sebastian didn't even tell him that his heart was feeling 'weird'. What the hell did that mean? How long had he felt his heart 'being weird?' Nate was kind of terrified to find out, because they just defibrillated Sebastian on the ride to the hospital. When they told him to stay clear of Sebastian's body, Nate's heart skipped a few beats just seeing Sebastian lying there, with the risk of literally _dying_. With the risk that he wasn't ever going to open his eyes _ever_ _again_.

By the time they wheeled him in the hospital, he was pretty much clinging onto life.

Nate thought that the worst was over when they got Sebastian to the hospital. He already nearly puked when they took off his shirt to put on the pads. Nate was always surprised by how thin Sebastian was, but he swore he didn't really gain anything like he was supposed to. Or at least, whatever he gained was not enough to prevent him from dying. He felt hopeless, because he had walked home one day just to discover his fucking sister dead. And she was three times the fucking size Sebastian was (no, she wasn't overweight. Sebastian was just that fucking underweight that they required three of him to make a normal-looking person). Nate watched as Sebastian turned bluer and bluer. They oxygenated him and were trying to help him out in the rescuitation room. All Nate could do was _watch_.

At least they stopped doing CPR (that was a good thing, right? Especially since the fact that he thought he saw _something_ in Sebastian move). How long had they been doing that for? To Nate, it felt like an eternity.

It took all of his strength not to call his mom, blubbering about Sarah's death, and how Sebastian was currently in the resuscitation room. Instead, he looked up all the complications of being post-cardiac arrest because he wasn't scared enough as it was. Apparently being post arrest, Sebastian was at risk for having complete brain damage. That wasn't okay. That was if he made it through this, you know?

When he half-opened his eyes, Nate felt a rush of relief. Sebastian's eyes were glossy, and he looked super out of it. Nate let himself relax, as he inched closer to a completely drowsy-looking Sebastian. Nate was hoping he was drowsy because they pumped him full of painkillers or something. Did they have a reason to do that? Nate didn't know.

"Hey," Nate said hoarsely, and Sebastian was looking straight at him. That was good, right? "Hey, Seb."

"Hey," Sebastian replied, his voice just as hoarse. He reached out his hand to hold Nate's.

Sebastian's heart was eating itself and now, he had a weird heart beat that made his heart _stop_. Something that the ECG that Sebastian took every day didn't show because it only happened in moments in the day.

"You gave me a fucking heart attack," Nate told him, as he approached him. He was… horrified. Angry. Shocked. Relieved. He was a lot of things and he didn't know how to convey them. He hoped that Burt yelled at him for not telling anyone about how _his heart was feeling funny_. Yeah. That wasn't fucking _okay_.

He wanted to yell at Sebastian, but the words dried in his mouth because he didn't want to hurt him.

"Oh, I'm…?" Sebastian looked around the hospital bed. His eyes were shiny and tired. "Of course, I fucking am."

Sebastian actually broke down into tears when he realised he was in the hospital again. He was tubed now, of course, and hopefully getting a million calories pumped into his stomach per minute. When Nate squeezed his hand tightly, he started sobbing and then burying his head into his pillow. He looked absolutely destroyed. His hair was messy, and the doctor practically tore his pretty clothes to try to get access to his chest as quick as possible.

Nate placed a hand on Sebastian's arm. Every time he came to the hospital, he looked smaller than the last time.

"I think they'll probably send you to an inpatient program… thing," Nate said softly, to which Sebastian nodded.

"Yeah," Sebastian replied, his shoulders slumped. "They probably will."

Nate pressed his lips against Sebastian's forehead, and felt him shudder and melt underneath him.

"You're going to do good," Nate tried to tell him, because he knew that Sebastian was eating. He knew that he was trying. He just… didn't know if it was enough for him, or if he was too far gone. "You just got to ride it out."

"Yeah," Sebastian replied softly. "But there's no fucking Netflix in the fucking IP place."

Nate laughed and felt tears running down his cheeks and his heart warm and full. Sebastian nearly fucking died, and all he cared about was that he couldn't watch all the weird crap that he watched at three am.

"I thought I lost you," Nate said, and then felt his chest ache. "I thought that…"

Sebastian rolled his still-glossy eyes, like nearly dying didn't phase him. But Nate knew it did. "I'm still here, right?"

Nate squeezed Sebastian's hand again and felt him squeezing back. His grip was getting better too.

"Come here," Sebastian sat up a little bit, and then wrapped his arms around Nate, who just realised what happened and he started crying because he really, really thought that Sebastian was a goner. He really thought…

Suddenly, Nate could barely even hold him, because of how thin he was. Because all he could think about was that Sebastian was supposed to have been getting help for fucking months now, and all he did was lose more weight. And Nate couldn't even entirely blame Sebastian for it, because he was fucking overwhelmed with all this just-got-out-of-the-ICU-my-dad-put-me-there crap that he had to go through in the first place, you know?

"Hey," Sebastian was rubbing Nate's back. "Hey, hey, it's okay… okay?" his voice was very soft.

He stayed with Sebastian until Nate started to calm down, which was pathetic. Sebastian nearly died and Nate was too busy trying not to breakdown over the whole thing. He felt comforted by Sebastian's hold, but he also didn't want Sebastian to touch him until he looked like a fucking human being. Because this wasn't working out. Sebastian was trying hard, but he obviously needed to be tubed way before his heart stopped in his car on a date.

"You took my breath away, asshole," Sebastian said, laughing lightly as Nate sobbed like a kid. "Literally."

Nate remembered blue Sebastian just sat there on the ground a few minutes ago. Yeah. Blue wasn't his colour.

In less than fifteen minutes, Burt, Kurt, Lena and Nathalie had managed to find their way to the emergency in a hospital that Nate had never even been to before. It sort of smelled like talcum powder, piss and old man vomit. Sebastian wrinkled his nose every few seconds from the smells. Nate's heart was beating quicker, because he just saw Sebastian have a cardiac arrest. This wasn't him just fainting on the ground. His heart literally stopped. It wasn't that someone was trying to hurt him. Sebastian was just sitting in his car, and they were about to go and eat and _his heart just_ _stopped_ _beating_. Did you know how fucking scary that was to know that Sebastian could drop dead like a fly any second? Nate saw Sebastian's eyes widen as he stared at his mom, who was pretty thin now.

What was he going to say now? _He literally could've died? He was blue for five minutes? The movie was great, thanks?_

Nate wished he didn't call Sebastian's mom because Sebastian looked like his heart was going to stop again. _She_ shouldn't be here. She shouldn't make him feel like this. Nathalie looked like she understood what was going on, because she tried to cover herself with her jacket that totally didn't hide the thirty-something pounds she lost in the span of a few months. Sebastian looked at his body with that look of disgust that made Nate's stomach flip. It was times like these that he was kind of glad that Sebastian didn't live with her, or he really would've been dead.

"Kid," Burt reached over to Sebastian's shoulder, because he looked at his mom in a way that made Nate uneasy. Because he looked like he wanted to tear off his own face, and that made Nate feel sick. Sebastian just nearly died, and Nate felt like a dick for telling his mom to come here when he knew that she was sick. "Hey, settle down... _it's okay_."

Sebastian seemed to relax under Burt's hold, but then swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Baby…" his mother crooned, which made Sebastian visibly flinch as she inched forward to him. Sebastian looked away from her. Kurt and Burt were pale as anything. "What's wrong? What happened? Why are you in the hospital?"

Nathalie looked like she was about to break down into tears, as she rubbed his shoulder. He smiled at her, because Nate knew that his mom cared. It was sort of obvious, but their relationship was pretty dysfunctional. Plus, Nate was sure that Sebastian got like 0.1% nicer since he'd started rooming in the Hummel's and he was sure that Sebastian didn't have that many friends before. Even when the lacrosse team was nice to him, he was so used to people being annoyed at the stuff that he did that he told them to eat dirt when they asked him if he was okay.

"No, no, no. _Get away_ from me," Sebastian said, and he sounded like he was a second away from breaking down.

Nathalie was surprised. "I don't understand," she was hurt. "Sebastian, we had such a good conversation tonight—"

"No," Sebastian cut her off, his voice sounded tearful and hoarse. "I don't fucking know what I was thinking when I called you because _I_ can't fucking talk to you. I… I can't go back to that house. I'm… _you're going to_ _kill me_."

Nate felt bad for her for a second, especially seeing how sick she was, but then he remembered that this was the same lady that threw Sebastian out of his house because she thought he had AIDS without a test. This was the same lady that let her husband hurt her kid for years and decided to send him back to the douchebag because she was pissed at him for sucking dick. Nate's shoulders stiffened. Sure. Not talking to his mom was kind of mean, but Nate also would rather have Sebastian alive than be constantly triggered by his own mom—even if she was dying alone in the house. She made her bed, and now, she had to fucking lie in it if she was just going to kick out both of her kids, you know?

"Do you really think that?" Nathalie asked, her voice just a whisper. It sounded like such an innocent question but the look of heart-wrenching guilt that Sebastian's face contorted to made Nate want to throw her out.

Sebastian's heart stopped and he felt guilty for not wanting to talk to his mom. _Seriously?_

"Mom," Lena whimpered. "Mom…maybe you should go." She looked at Sebastian. "Do you want me to go too?"

Sebastian just shook his head mutely. He wasn't exactly comparing baby bumps with his sister.

"This isn't fair," Nathalie said to him, and Sebastian refused to even look at her.

"It's not your fault," Lena said the minute that Nathalie left. "What… what happened?"

"Kid?" Burt looked at Sebastian, like he was hoping he'd say something. "You pass out? Didn't eat enough?"

"No," Sebastian's voice was a little low. "It wasn't… not like that."

Nate scoffed. He _almost_ wished that Sebastian just passed out from not eating enough during the day.

"No, sir… um… Sebastian's heart stopped," Nate said softly. "For ten minutes." He was sure it felt like it was way more. Maybe it was less than that, but… Nate doubted it. He seriously felt too nauseated.

Sebastian looked a little freaked out knowing it wasn't just a few seconds. "Oh," his voice was soft. "I didn't…"

"Maybe more," Nate said, because he didn't want Sebastian to think that him being on this Earth right now wasn't a fucking miracle on its own. "I tried to do CPR on him—I'm… I'm certified, sir. He wasn't breathing. His pulse was really weak, and I guess that doing it on a dummy isn't like doing it on a real person that is actively _dying_ in front of you. The ambulance took really good care of him. He was practically pink by the time they bought him into the ER."

The rib fracture wasn't that bad apparently according to the nurse. They gave him acetaminophen for it.

"If you're going to yell at me, now would be the appropriate time, princess," Sebastian offered a watery smile.

Kurt looked absolutely horrified. He paled as he stared at Sebastian, who just kept looking at his hands like there was something important and mystic about them that nobody but him knew about. _Yeah, they were the hands of someone that was fortunately alive_ , Nate kind of wanted to say. Because Sebastian was very lucky that he didn't die.

"What do you mean his heart stopped?" Burt turned red. "That can happen just because he don't eat?"

"Yeah, Dad," Kurt replied, his voice was cracked and low. "Because the doctor said that his heart was eating itself for nourishment because it can't exactly get it from his non-existent fat cells. And that could lead to weird heart beats—and the weird heart beats could kill him, as it evidently almost did because _someone_ has a severe inability to communicate with others and failed to announce the fact that they are experiencing these problems in the first place."

Sebastian's ears went red, but he looked guilty. "I deserve that," he said softly.

"Kid, this ain't okay," Burt tried to tell him, and Sebastian nodded his head, very aware of it.

Nate was looking at everyone's faces. They kind of had that face that said that they sort of pitied Sebastian. They pitied him for how sick he was and how oblivious he was to it. If his heart ever stopped, Nate wouldn't ever want to leave the fucking hospital. Meanwhile, Sebastian was more uncomfortable with the fact that he was at a hospital and had to explain what happened to people than the actual event that _had_ happened. How backwards was _that?_

"I'm sorry, Mr Hummel," Sebastian honestly did sound sorry. "I… I didn't want to end up being tubed, sir. And doc Karofsky made it clear that he wasn't going to let me off if he thinks there's something wrong with my heart."

"Thought you could just put on a little and everything will be okay?" Burt asked, and Sebastian nodded his head.

Burt sighed deeply, shaking his head. "Kid, what the hell am I supposed to do with you?" he then moved in and placed his hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. "They're probably keeping you here. And you _should_ be here."

Sebastian nodded his head numbly. "Yeah," his voice was soft. He sounded so sad that it destroyed Nate.

"Hey," Sebastian's voice was soft, as he reached over and squeezed Nate's hand. "I had a good time."

"Really?" Nate was wondering whether Sebastian was purposely annoying him to sabotage his date, or because Sebastian just generally seemed to get off of annoying people around him. "I thought it was great too… until, you know, you nearly died. I know that you don't date much, but apparently, they don't usually lead to death."

Sebastian snorted, and he looked a little bit more like himself for a few seconds. "Asshole."

It just dawned on Nate that besides the real reason Sebastian had been so accepting of what happened before was because he really thought he _just_ blacked out. Of course, he didn't remember the fact that his heart stopped. He looked spooked out, and now, Nate kind of wished that it was back to normal cocky Seb that didn't care about anything in the world. But deep down, he knew this was an improvement that Sebastian was _terrified_ of dying. Because it meant that Sebastian didn't want to die anymore, and that thought should make him happy, but he just didn't like seeing Sebastian so scared and disappointed in himself. He looked over at Kurt, who looked conflicted too.

As he left the hospital at around two-am, it kind of dawned on him that this meant that he probably wasn't going to see or hear from Sebastian in weeks if they took him as an inpatient to some weird eating disorder centre he'd never heard of. And he wouldn't know how bad _or_ how well he was doing until he came out from there.


	47. Chapter 47

_hey guys. i couldn't update because i had exams. i still do but i only have two left (and they are one after another). fortunately, this chapter is almost 8,000 words?  
_

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Forty-Seven

* * *

"I have thirty minutes a fucking day to watch cartoons _and_ you try and call me during that time?" Sebastian moodily asked Kurt, although they both knew that there was no way Sebastian's lazy ass actually limited TV time that low for the past five months that he'd been in this stupid IP torture chamber horror film slasher show (Sebastian would rather be ogling Kurt's stepbrother all day long and have his dick being electrocuted by a monkey at random intervals). He ate his extra pudding just to be allowed to take a shit with the doors closed. "Someone better be dying, princess."

"To what do I owe this awful mood to today?" Kurt rolled his eyes. "Let me guess? Someone told you that the world doesn't revolve around you this morning? Because I just want you to know that they are absolutely right."

"Do you _ever_ get tired of saying that, Princess Peach?" Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Is the weather nice outside?"

"Ha ha," Kurt rolled his eyes. " _You're_ _not_ _in jail_ , Sebastian. They don't do three hours of remedial yoga in jail."

"You say it like you've been to jail before, Gay Face," Sebastian mumbled. Why the hell did he waste his thirty minutes every day for the last five months talking to a guy that gave him dangerous blood pressure readings? "And do I look like I'm the kind of guy that needs a spiritual awakening? I need a _different kind_ of awakening," he smirked.

"You're disgusting," Kurt replied. He wondered how a guy could be nineteen and still be such a blushing virgin. He felt bad for Kurt Hummel. Sebastian thought that being abused as a kid meant that _he_ was the one with the puberty problem, not some whiny I'm-always-right gay guy that just guessed he didn't like any pussy without experimentation.

"You called me in the thirty minutes I got for the day for TV to tell me I'm disgusting?" Sebastian mused with a smirk.

"No," Kurt mumbled. "I also forgot to tell you that you're an asshole." Sebastian rolled his eyes.

He hoped that the fairy princess choked. Not on dick, because that was _scary_. "Did you manage to get laid when I was gone?" Sebastian wondered. "Or do you want me to teach you the stuff I learned from _my_ _remedial yoga?_ "

Kurt started coughing, and Sebastian just rolled his eyes. What kind of nineteen-year-old hated talking about sex? The last time Sebastian tried to get Kurt to tell him how it was like to get down with Blaine, Kurt started singing some bad tune that made Sebastian want to escape the inpatient program just to murder the princess with dragon fire.

"Is that _all_ you think about?" Kurt complained. No. He also thought about being flexible enough to suck himself off.

Kurt cleared his throat. "Your mom called me today," he said. "And then proceeded to visit my house, and cornered me, asking me why her son apparently hasn't called her since he'd been admitted to the hospital. Care to explain?"

"No," Sebastian said almost immediately, feeling his blood boil in his body. The more time he spent away from his mom, the more he hated her. He didn't even call to congratulate her when Kurt told him that she beat her cancer the second time. Sebastian was just such a bad fucking son he didn't even _care_ about her beating her cancer.

"She's your mom, Sebastian," Kurt's voice was soft. He knew it was kind of a sensitive subject but refused to shut up. "She's worried about you, and probably blames herself. She just—she had cancer, Sebastian. I just… maybe, just…"

"It's none of your fucking business, Kurt," Sebastian felt his throat tighten a little bit.

 _"My first given name,"_ Sebastian could practically see Kurt roll his eyes. "Must be something serious."

He was seething from rage. Kurt Hummel thought that he was so fucking sassy and interesting. Screw him.

"You don't fucking understand," Sebastian spat out coldly.

"Then _MAKE ME UNDERSTAND_ instead of being so ominous all the time!" Kurt replied back hotly. "I am not in your head, Sebastian. I don't know what you are thinking about, _especially when you have the most irrational_ —"

Sebastian took a deep breath, and he did something he didn't think he'd ever do.

" _SHE_ let him hit me when I was _SIX!"_ Sebastian yelled. "I spilled some fucking chocolate milk on his papers, okay? But the old man couldn't let it go. He decided to be logical about it and snap my fucking wrist. And then afterwards, he made me clean the dishes after. He told me if I dared to drop a fucking plate, he'd break my other wrist."

She tried to glue back his wrist with vanilla frosting and fudge icing. For the longest time, he _believed_ her.

"Where _the hell_ was she then?" Sebastian asked, his throat aching. "She don't deserve my fucking phone call."

He believed that she loved him. He believed that she was trying her best. A fucking _LIE_.

"She let him hit me for _nine years_. But you know when she left him?" Sebastian asked, his ears red. "A _week_ after he started hitting _her_ —she couldn't fucking handle a fucking week of what he'd been doing to me for _YEARS!"_

"Sebastian, just—" Kurt sounded concerned. "Calm down, okay? Can you just…?"

"And you know what? The bitch had the fucking balls to tell me that she did it for _ME!_ Her! The fucking amazing domestic abuse survivour… my fucking poor mother that let her husband lay a hand on me for a decade," Sebastian laughed. "When she heard that I sucked cock, she diagnosed me with AIDS with her mom vision and threw me out of the house. And told me to _live with him_. Do you know I called her when I was with him? What do you think _she_ did? Drop me to come and rescue me? She was ironing her fucking clothes and listening to her kid tell her that her ex-husband fed him a fucking spider like it was something that happened _EVERY FUCKING DAY…?_ _FUCK…HER!"_

Kurt stayed quiet. Sebastian took a deep breath and he was wheezing.

"She can go drop dead in a ditch," Sebastian was seriously shocked by how little he cared for his mom. " _I_ don't care."

He couldn't believe how much resentment he harboured for his mom. He hated her way more than he hated his father. At least he didn't try to sugar coat it and tell him that he loved him. At least he had the fucking gall to look at him and tell him that he wished that he asphyxiated his infant child. At least he didn't try to destroy his ability to trust anyone.

When he thought about his dad, he felt pissed. When he thought about his mom, he wanted to _hurt himself_.

"Tell me more," Kurt finally said, and his voice was very soft. "What else did she do?"

Sebastian swallowed the lump in his throat. He turned down the volume even lower on the TV.

"Sebastian?" Kurt's voice was even softer now. "It's okay. You… you can tell me. I'm… I'm… I'm listening."

He would never, in a hundred fucking years, believe that the first person that he really opened up to was Princess Gay Face, the guy that he wanted to slushie only a year ago. The same guy that posted pictures of him half-naked on the internet. The same guy that got him kicked out of his house. His… best friend? Man, Nate would be so pissed.

Nate. He hadn't called Nate in so long that he forgot how he sounded like almost. He was scared of calling other people other than Kurt. He was scared of disappointing Nate. He was scared that Burt Hummel hated him.

"When I went to school with two broken wrists," yeah, of course he dropped a plate, Sebastian rolled his eyes. "The teach called my mom during recess, alright? When my mom came, she was almost embarrassed. She tried to play it off like I was so clumsy that I managed to break both my wrists falling down the fucking stairs. _Ha ha_ , so funny, my fat, clumsy fucking child that was running too fast because he smelled cookies bakin' downstairs. But the teach didn't buy it, and she called child services to take me away from my house. My mother was _pissed_ when she called my new foster mom. At eleven that night, she found my new foster home and she dragged me out by my fucking broken wrist all the way to the car and my foster mom screamed at her to let me go. My dad paid the cops off to let her get away with it."

All France reminded him of was sucking milkshakes out of his IV-line phase in an old, disgusting hospital.

"You were in foster care?" Kurt sounded surprised, his voice was soft.

"I was abused, princess? That's what happens when people find out?" Sebastian snorted. His parents always paid them off, but he remembered the few days far and between. The best was this one week he spent with this old nurse with arthritis that wrapped up all his wounds after she took him to get checked up by the doc. He healthily lost weight. He was _happy_. "You're kind of my foster family anyway, princess. I don't know why it surprises you so goddamn much."

"I… I never really thought of it like that," Kurt said. "It would freak Dad to know that you see him as a foster dad. And I have never, ever considered seeing you a my foster brother." Sebastian laughed. Kurt sounded disgusted.

Thinking about his mom made Sebastian want to eat, eat and eat, which scared him. All he dreamed of all day was thick, full-fat vanilla shakes, and cookies dipped in so much chocolate it weighed a pound. Sebastian hated how much he fantasised about eating. He'd been trying to curb his urges with celery, but it wasn't working out so much.

"Are you okay?" Kurt tried to get Sebastian out of his thoughts.

"Yeah," Sebastian said softly, but he was thinking about what was going to happen when he left this place. He wasn't dying from his eating disorder anymore. He didn't _have_ to go back to Kurt's house… but the thought of going back to his mom's house kind of made him wish he died when his heart stopped. "Sure. Um… goodnight, Kurt."

"Sebastian, _wait!_ I…—" Sebastian ended the call before he heard what Kurt had to say.

His chest ached because how fucking embarrassing was it that he just told Kurt all this stuff about his mom when there was a huge chance that he was just going back home tomorrow? Sebastian felt his chest feel weird, but he knew that it wasn't his heart. He knew it was just a fucking normal panic attack. He tried to sleep through it, but he just clung onto his bedsheets, and turned to the side. He'd been alone for the past five months. He wasn't fucking ready to have a normal life anytime soon, not with everyone knowing about what his dad did, and his fakorexia. Gross.

 _Anorexia_ , Sebastian corrected. Because one of the ladies told him that he couldn't die from _faking_ an eating disorder.

When his phone rang again at around one in the morning, he looked around and saw that it was Kurt. He didn't know what possessed him to pick up the phone because his hands were sweaty, and he felt like he was about to hurl.

"Sebastian?" Kurt's voice was very soft. Sebastian wasn't supposed to have his phone on him right now. "Sebastian?"

Sebastian felt his stomach flip. Maybe they let him keep it since he was going to be discharged tomorrow anyway.

"Are the thoughts of me naked in heels interrupting your _beauty sleep?"_ he deserved that fucking Nationals trophy for being able to say that with coherence when his hands were shaking, and he felt like he was about to puke what he ate.

"Ha ha," he could almost see Kurt rolling his eyes. "Very funny, Sebastian."

Sebastian heard Kurt's breathing on the other end of the phone, which weirdly helped him relax too.

There was a sudden silence, and Sebastian shifted uncomfortably in his bed. "One of the girls killed herself here," he said, not sure why he felt the racing beats of his heart slowly melt into a warm feeling. He must be seriously sick if he felt better when he was telling Kurt about a girl that died. "The assholes here called her Piggy Peggy."

Sebastian remembered the feeling of disgust he had when he saw her first eat three helpings of mashed potatoes when he walked in. That feeling melted away when he noticed people picking on her. Calling her Piggy Peggy. Taking pictures of how her shorts were riding up and posting it on the internet—which yeah, they weren't allowed to have in the first place. Sebastian had his phone confiscated a billion times when he was playing Candy Crush when he was taking a shit. Which he had to take with the doors open so they could make sure he wasn't puking.

The only reason he was sure he had his phone right now was because he was going to be discharged tomorrow.

"I'm… I'm sorry," Kurt said after a silent pause. "Did you know her really well?"

"No," Sebastian mumbled, his voice was soft. "I didn't say anything to her, Gay Face but it was what I was _thinking_ about her, you know? It made me feel like I did tell her that I thought that she was… disgusting. But it reminded me of Karofsky, you know? Because I told him straight up to his face that he should stay in the closet and he…"

Sebastian was lucky that Dave was okay. He was lucky that Dave even forgave him in the first place. He knew something happened between them that made Sebastian distance himself from him, but he missed him.

He cleared his throat. "Whatever," Sebastian was staring at the other side of the room. "Is there any reason you called me at one in the morning, princess? _Besides_ waking me up from my dreams of mounting a sailor."

"It's just… um…" why was Kurt being awkward around him? "Dad and I were packing your stuff this week. I… I didn't know that you—I thought—I… I didn't know that you didn't want to go back to your mom."

Sebastian felt his stomach drop, and then he took a deep breath. "I'm a big boy, Gay Face. I can handle myself."

"But—" Kurt couldn't even finish his wording before Sebastian ended their call.

 _His wonderful mom_. When he was huge and losing massive amounts of weight, his mom thought he had _tuberculosis_. Obviously, tuberculosis if he was straight. AIDS if he was gay. His mom was seriously behind the times.

He felt uncomfortable in his body, even though this was the body that he used to like only a year ago. The body that he thought was a little on the thin side to begin with. The body he tried to plump up by eating whole pizzas and full-fat milk lattes when he was depressed. The body he used to do three sets of twenty lunges and squats just to pump up his ass. He used to not only like this body, but thoroughly believe that he was a little on the thin side. When he got to this weight in the beginning, Sebastian used to feel like a gust of wind could blow him away.

Sebastian had been in this death trap for _five months_ now. A ten-minute phone call every day to Kurt about how much this whole _can't watch TV until 6_ thing was killing him—and his daily remedial yoga session where Sebastian farted in every pose just to keep things interesting. He'd probably raked up enough money in that time to force his mom to sell the house just to pay it off. That should be an interesting conversation…

 _Hey, mom, I ignored you for five months. I'm moving back in tomorrow?_

If he had to go back to his mom tomorrow, she was going to be pissed. In fact, Sebastian was just hoping by the grace of God this holding up a bed in a mental health facility for like five months was somehow _free_ (because the food wasn't that great to begin with, and Sebastian had to eat a lot of it just to… exist). His dietitian realised how fast his metabolism must be because he had to eat double what most other guys here—guys that put on weight _twice_ as fast as him eating half as much. He was apparently 'lucky' because in this privileged white eating disorder world, as long as he didn't put on weight when he ate, it must mean that his life was _great_. It didn't matter if he was abused, if he was an absolute dick, or if he nearly blinded someone. If he was thin, that meant that he was _something to aspire to_.

But Sebastian had good news at the very least. After he started to have a close to normal body fat percentage, he'd started masturbating vigorously. He was happy when he realised his dick wasn't dead. If he just knew that putting on a couple of pounds would make him interested in having sex again, he would've done this fucking ages ago!

Do you know another weird thing? He got up from his chair suddenly and didn't collapse almost immediately. _Wow_.

 _I'm going to see you tomorrow_ , Kurt texted him. _I'm going to visit you in your mom's house. If you didn't gain enough weight in the past five months to look NORMAL, Sebastian, then I swear to God that I'm going to kill you with my own bare hands._

Sebastian smiled when he read the text. He had his phone and it was two in the morning. He wondered if he should call Nate. He kind of felt bad for how their date went down nearly half a year ago. He kind of felt bad for how he got Nate involved in his life. He went over things in his head and didn't think that things could work out between them.

He didn't think that he was mentally ready for a relationship. _Physically_ , he was more than ready. He'd been pumping out so much thick dick juice that if the mattress was a woman, she'd be having triplets. Just saying.

 _Get some sleep, princess. I'm not dealing with your moody bitchy ass tomorrow,_ Sebastian texted back. He couldn't stop fucking smiling. He didn't know what Kurt meant to him, but he didn't think he ever wanted to ruin it. Maybe he was kind of in a little foster family in his head. Maybe he was something else. Sebastian still remembered how it felt like to sleep on that comfy mattress. It was better than the one he had to sleep on in his mom's house. It was much better than the cardboard he had to sleep on here in the IP place. Sebastian was sure they added the 'remedial yoga' because so many residents complained of getting a herniated fucking disc after they slept on that board of steel.

Sebastian didn't know what to wear tomorrow to see Kurt. He kind of didn't know if they should hang out. They didn't really hang out before… well, they lived together, and Sebastian was too busy avoiding meals.

 _Can we go shopping with that black chick again?_ Sebastian texted Kurt. He didn't get why it was so easy to text Kurt stuff that was in his mind that he didn't like to tell anyone else. He never told anyone details about his life like that before…

 _Her name is Mercedes, Sebastian. She's in LA right now_ , Kurt texted back. _But if you'd like, WE can go shopping tomorrow._

Ha ha. Sebastian rolled his eyes. If _you'd_ like. Asshole. He had Lena send him clothes anyway, and she bought him a lot of clothes on his old size—maybe a little bigger than his old size. She sent him a few pictures of baby Vicky, who he thought was kind of the cutest little angry red tomato that he'd ever seen. Sebastian wasn't a baby kind of guy—fortunately for him, he didn't have to worry about that... but maybe he'd make an exception for Vic.

That morning, he had his last weigh-in. Sebastian always weighed backwards, so he didn't have to look at the number.

The nurse looked at him with a little concerned look on her face. She went and picked up his chart and Sebastian had to calm himself down because he was about to have a fucking panic attack if he couldn't leave this stupid place. He smoothed over the sweater that Jeff gave him, which he realised last night was a size XL. Sebastian wondered if Jeff thought he was that big, or if he just wanted him to have an oversized sweater. Or if it was just because he was tall like him? Sebastian had been sick to his stomach and only ate… three-quarters of his food, which was less than usual.

One of the docs wrote some notes on his meal plan, and he could see her adding more food to his already crazy meal plan. Sebastian just realised that he didn't know how he was supposed to eat so much food in front of _other_ people.

He also wanted to go back to running and lacrosse, even if it meant he had to snack before and after he went out for a run. He just needed to get out of this fucking place. He hated this place. Nobody liked him to talk in group therapy anyways. They looked at him and then decided whatever he had to say wasn't good enough because his eating disorder wasn't _so_ bad if he could go back to eating like a monster just because some old lady in too-tight pantsuits told him that if he wanted to get better, he could start by chowing down. The anorexic chicks acted like they were superior over the chicks that binge ate, which Sebastian thought was fucking cruel. Piggy Peggy killed herself after some bitch told her that she must really regret that one two-inch brownie she ate for dessert. Seriously?

Sebastian used to believe that he didn't get anything out of being three hundred pounds a lifetime ago, but he was kind of happy about it now. The bad stuff sort of kept him grounded a little. He was an asshole, but he would be much more of an asshole if he didn't know how it was like to be in Peggy's really, old ratty red flats.

He really didn't want to be so far gone in his own eating disorder that he didn't give a shit about her death because she 'didn't have the discipline to starve herself'. Sebastian tried to imagine Lena as Peggy and it made him pissed off. Because Peggy had a little brother too, and a mom and dad that cared about her.

He bet that they'd rather have her fat forever than dead. It made him wonder how other people felt about him…

But how _jaded_ did you have to be to think that after this girl just _died?_ A girl that he just saw sitting on the bed, crying because she really thought that she couldn't do it. Was being fat that bad that all fat people deserved to just drop dead like flies because they took up a little more space than you? Sebastian thought about what he said to Dave when he blew him off. Calling him a hundred pounds overweight. Thinking all that stuff about big people…

Like he wasn't one of them before. Like he didn't get how it was like to be _SO_ aware of how big you were.

How was that fair? You hate yourself, and you had the reminder when you go outside that people thought you were gross and lazy and unkempt just because you liked to eat more than the average person? Sebastian was sure that there were some people that were more forgiving of heroin addicts that burned their house down and killed their babies with their hands for money just because they were rail thin. He used to sometimes wish that these rail thin don't-want-to-eat bitches became huge, but that made it sound like being big was a _punishment_. He didn't hope that straight people suddenly woke up craving for cock, so why would he hope that a thin chick suddenly woke up fat? Like it was _bad?_

 _You could always lose weight, but you couldn't bring someone back from the fucking dead._ Peggy was _always_ going to be dead.

At least Sebastian felt like he'd sobered up to how much of a dick his eating disorder made him about two months ago. He didn't want to think like that anymore, and he really didn't need to _be_ _here_ in the land where the only thing that seemed to matter was the fact that a fourteen-year-old would struggle in get into your teeny pants.

He wanted to be back in the real world where they didn't care if you wore giant pants, but if your dad was punching you in the face, they'd give a shit. And if someone killed themselves and was over two hundred, it was a _tragedy_.

His therapist listened to him yap about this every week. But it was true. How would you like if it all your problems in the world was condescended to the size of your pants? Sebastian didn't even want to know his pants size anymore. Lena send him pants that used to fit him from before, and he'd cut off the tags and burned them without looking. He was sick of being a number around here. He'd never been so objectified as he was in this IP place where the girls saw him eating yoghurt and were eying him up and down, telling him he shouldn't be eating _full fat_.

Sure. He wouldn't lie. If he saw someone losing weight, exercising, he'd want to too. He wasn't perfect, okay?

Sebastian was still sick. He still dreamed about skipping one or two meals. He didn't look at the mirror for longer than three seconds just in case he'd want to cut his fat off with scissors. He sometimes felt like he'd rather fucking die with his eating disorder than live at three hundred pounds again. Sebastian knew it wasn't right, but at least, he could tell apart _himself_ and his _eating disorder_. And that wasn't something he was able to do before…

Even before he developed his eating disorder, he used to pick off vegetables from pizza slices because he thought dairy and refined carbohydrates were going to give him a heart attack at the ripe age of thirty.

Yeah. If a sixteen-year-old kid had an anxiety attack about drinking skim milk, they had a _serious problem_.

"Okay," the nurse broke Sebastian out of his thoughts and then gave him the doc's new meal plan. "You can go."

Sebastian hopped off the scale, happy it turned off because he glanced to look at the number even though he knew that it wouldn't do anything for him. He grabbed the meal plan sample that he'd been eating off and felt a little sick seeing how much more they added to it. Just because the last few weeks, he'd been losing a couple of pounds (even though they knew he was eating). Sebastian knew that they just wanted to make sure he wasn't going to get any worse.

They gave him that 'if you lose anymore, I'm going to personally let your doctor send you back for another year.'

 _No fucking thanks_ , Sebastian groaned. He nodded towards her and got his bag and all his stuff back. Including the laptop that he tried to smuggle in (yeah, that didn't work out), a melted expired Snickers and his wallet.

When he was waiting, he got himself this huge sub that was filled with enough cured meats to kill Burt Hummel.

As he slowly chewed through a twelve-foot long sub, Sebastian felt sick as he texted his mom about how he needed picking up. He bet that she hated him. His mom was probably still pissed off that he chose to call Kurt instead of her, because he didn't even congratulate her on beating cancer for the _second fucking time_ yet. Or you know, the rest of his family members—except that one day that he chose to call Lena and told her to send him pictures of her gross placenta so he could show it to health freak chicks that ate freeze-dried placenta in their smoothies.

And maybe, okay, he sent it to Hummel even though he wasn't supposed to be allowed to use his phone.

Even the docs thought that he'd fail, because of how thin, malnourished and delusional he was when he came here. But he did mean it when he said that he wanted to be better. Sebastian worked hard to get better by himself. He worked hard to look like a regular human being. He worked hard to try to hide what was _still_ in his head.

The longer he had to wait for his mom, the sicker that Sebastian felt. At five, Sebastian was fighting a panic attack.

He took five fucking hours to eat, and his mom still hadn't picked him up. Sebastian was sure that she was doing this just to make him suffer. He was sure that she was going to pick him up at the last possible minute. Sebastian was sure that she was going to act prissy, and Sebastian was already ready for the slew of chores that she was going to give him the second that he stepped back into that house. As he waited, he felt his anxiety run its course. He thought that he was just suddenly going to die in a sub shop that was looking at him weird because he finished eating an hour ago and still hadn't moved even though he had no company. He pretended to be really engrossed in his phone…

 _Hey_ , Kurt texted Sebastian. _I know you've been out for a few hours now. When do you want to pick you up from your house?_

Sebastian didn't dare open that WhatsApp page. He didn't want Kurt to know he read that message. He'd been out from the building since noon, and his mom hadn't come yet. He'd been waiting forever for her to pick him up. Sebastian didn't know if he should tell Kurt or if he should just wait out this fucking torture. What was he going to tell him anyway? _Hey, princess, can I live with you forever? Also, can you pick me up? My mom is late by five hours?_

He was seventeen years old. He could deal with his mom for a year. But he had this hole in his chest, because he wanted to have… you know, a family that he could…—Sebastian just shook his head, trying to get the thoughts out of his head. It was too hot outside, and he was wearing that sweater. He hadn't been in Dalton in so long he forgot how it was like to have school, and he felt almost anxious to go back. His new semester was supposed to start in a few days and Sebastian wasn't going to miss going back to his school that his grandma was still paying for.

Besides, Kurt wasn't going to stay in Ohio forever. He was going to go to New York. Nate was graduating _this_ year… and like Nate even wanted to talk to him when the only person he'd been talking to was Kurt.

 _Sebastian, I know you read my message,_ Kurt texted him. _I'm not stupid. Care to explain to me what your plans are for today?_

 _I'm picking you up at eight_ , Kurt texted. _And you are going to explain to me what is going on in your brain._

He'd been overthinking Kurt's texts and he had managed to work himself into another full-pledged panic attack by six-thirty when he was sweating through his sweater (ha) and he felt like his pants were getting increasingly tighter. Sebastian didn't even relax when he saw his mom driving _his_ car, which she somehow managed to repair to the point where it looked shiny and glossy. His mom peered out of the window and told him to get in. She _hated_ him.

She was back to being the skinny mom that she was when she was sick the first time. Great.

The car ride was the worst. It was a pure thirty minutes of silence. Sebastian was trying to time a shower the minute he got home, and what he was going to wear. He hadn't _actually_ put together a real outfit in so long that he forgot what his own style was like. Thrift shop pants with holes and razor blade hipbones was _so_ last year.

Sebastian tried not to look at his mom. He was oscillating between wanting to eat giant burgers with three patties and enough cheese to make vegan Nick feel like shooting himself to wanting to tear out the lard in his body. Also great.

"You got fat," his mom said at one of the stop lights which made his ears turn red. _Bitch_. _She_ made him three hundred pounds. "What were _you_ doing for the past half-year? Being plumped up for that evil witch in Hansel and Gretel?"

"At least the evil witch has visitors," Sebastian mumbled back to her, and her eyes were consumed by rage.

"You are an ungrateful little brat, Sebastian," for some reason, _that_ hurt way more than her calling him fat. Because Sebastian was pretty sure she didn't really mean that but hearing him say that he was ungrateful little brat, he knew that she really believed it. "What kind of child leaves their own mother in her house, dying from _cancer?"_

Sebastian cleared his throat. "You were going to _kill me_ ," his voice was soft.

"Really, Sebastian? Are you not going to take responsibilities for your own actions?" his mom asked. He stayed quiet.

If he spent time around his mom when she was dropping the pounds, he was _sure_ he would've died. He felt the lowest of the fucking low. He couldn't believe a bunch of old, white-haired nurses told him he did a good job, but his own mom was trying to convince him he was puffier than a blowfish. He knew that it was irrational, but he didn't feel so good about gaining weight. Or you know, being alive. And his heart was beating about a million beats per minute.

His mom answered the phone and left it on speaker on purpose. Some bitchy stay-at-home mom named Sally asked her if she picked up her 'lazy, good-for-nothing' son. His mom talked loudly about how she picked him up, and how he was trying to wrongly convince her that she was the reason he couldn't just eat a little noodles with his broth.

 _Sebastian, I am half an hour from your house_ , Kurt sent. _I expect you to be READY when I come there. And thank you for pretending to ignore my texts. I hope that you have a good explanation for this_ _because I will ask._

The second he heard his mom laugh, he wished she would take a wrong turn and kill them both.

The minute Sebastian got into the house, he felt even worse. He fucking hated this house more than anything. If he knew that he'd be coming back here when he was in the IP place, he didn't think he'd ever have put on any weight in the first place. He practically sprinted to the bathroom to take a shower in about less than ten minutes and threw on a pair of black pants, a white shirt, and a denim jacket. Old clothes that he used to like. They fit him _perfectly_ , which made him feel awful about himself. Sebastian was in the middle of tying his shoes when his mom barged in.

"What do you want, mom?" Sebastian didn't even bother looking up. He knew that they were going to fight. He just knew it. He knew that he didn't actually want to go out anymore, not when he knew that he was living here.

He'd rather live in that roach-infested disgusting house that his father had. He was almost considering it.

"What are you doing?" Nathalie was staring at him with a stare that could've made his heart stop.

Sebastian stopped tying his shoes. He ran his hand through his half-wet hair, which he shouldn't do. Now that he ate, it went from dry and brittle to the overly oily disgusting mess that it had always been. "I have plans. I'm going out. You know, that thing you do to see people that you like? Assuming you have people that actually _like you_ , mother…"

"You are _NOT_ going out!" Nathalie waved a fist in the air. "You just came back after a _YEAR_ away from home!"

"This is not my home," Sebastian said through gritted teeth. "I'd rather live in a fucking dumpster."

Nathalie actually looked excited when he said that. His mom then grabbed his bag, and then shoved it to his chest so tightly that it hurt. "Go ahead, Sebastian. Am I really going to stop you?" she asked hotly. "Would you _really_ go sleep outside in the cold? Because I doubt that poor Mr Hummel would let you back unless you lose another fifty pounds."

Sebastian dropped his bag onto his bed, and then swallowed the lump in his throat. His mom was right. He couldn't go back to Kurt's anymore. It wasn't like he was going to die any time soon.

Thinking of how much weight he had to lose to actually be super sick again almost depressed him.

"Do you think anyone _CARES_ about you now, Sebastian?" she asked him pointedly. "Your dad is not hitting you. You are not dying of an eating disorder. You are absolutely fine. Who cares about how _YOU_ feel?"

 _I care,_ Sebastian whispered to himself. _Why_ did he have to go through huge extremes to deserve to have emotions?

Sebastian looked down at his feet, and then cleared his throat. But that was a good thing, he was pretty sure—that nobody would care as much. He didn't want to worry anymore nice people like princess Hummel and Nate, who he hadn't texted in half a year. He was the worst friend in the fucking planet. He… wished he could be a better person. Sebastian didn't want to fucking deal with the actions of locking himself in an eating disorder centre for six months and calling the same guy every day. He didn't want to explain it to anyone. _What_ was he going to say?

 _I'm sorry I didn't call, even though I called Kurt every day_ , Sebastian imagined the conversation. _Rain check…?_

When he heard the door bell ring, Sebastian opened the door and was a little taken back by Hummel standing there, looking like he discovered what a bicep curl was. That was what he was doing when he was gone? Huh.

"I can't believe—…" Kurt's pissed off face melted a little as he trailed his eyes up and down Sebastian's body.

Sebastian didn't say nothing as Kurt placed a hand on his shoulder. Before he could say anything, Kurt wrapped his arms around him and pulled him closer. Sebastian just melted into his embrace and ran his hand through Kurt's hair.

" _Not_ my hair, Sebastian," Kurt mumbled into Sebastian's shoulder. He held Sebastian so tight he could barely breathe.

"I missed you, princess," Sebastian felt a little bad. He missed the one guy that he called pretty much every day. He missed like two people. He felt bad about being a bad friend to Nate, especially since that guy went above and beyond, especially since he called Nate his best friend, and he did miss him a lot, but something was keeping him from calling him. He felt like Nate was disappointed in him—for not telling him about how he felt like that night.

"Asshole," Kurt rolled his eyes. "I missed you too."

Sebastian inched away and became instantly redder. "How's… how's Nate?" the subject he didn't wanna bring up.

"He's alright," Kurt rubbed his neck and cleared his throat. "He wonders why you… you never called him."

"I know," Sebastian's voice was soft. "But I was more interested in making sure _you_ don't get any _z's_ when I was still around." He went red, and he tried not to look at Kurt's face. He had really… really nice eyes.

"That sounds so…" Kurt went even redder, because it sounded like they were fucking all this time.

Sebastian just shrugged. "Oh, _puh-lease_ , princess—as if me shagging you up isn't a privilege," he smirked.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "As if I'd let you get on top of me," he mumbled. "That if we were ever to…" Sebastian laughed.

He hated himself. Why didn't he get feelings for people that he was supposed to? Like _Nate?_ Why did he have feelings for Blaine Anderson when he was locking lips with Kurt Hummel? Why did he have to have feelings for Dave Karofsky even after he basically threw his flowers out the second that he gave them? Why was he feeling funny around Kurt fucking Hummel, a guy that he yesterday sort of implied was his foster brother? A guy that was going to leave Ohio the second that he could to go chase his New York dreams? Sebastian just gave up.

 _You didn't even give Nate a real chance_ , Sebastian reminded himself. _He deserves better, asshole. EVERYONE deserves better._

He couldn't believe that he agreed to go shopping with the princess. Sebastian was annoyed at himself for putting himself in the situation. Kurt had been throwing jeans at him all morning, telling him to try them on. Sebastian didn't know how it felt when he went into the dressing room and saw that Kurt seriously underestimated his pants size. He was pretty tall, and there was no way that he could get into any of these sizes. He had tried some on, and he did like the colour of like two of them. Like a nice kind of black-blue thing, which was pretty slimming (hey, he still had a problem, okay?) but he didn't know how to tell Kurt that he could barely get them up his body.

Sebastian got out and when Kurt went to try his clothes, he swapped the pants for two sizes bigger than what Kurt got him, and felt himself flush, like he was doing illegal by just being the size that he was.

 _Fat ass_ , Sebastian tried to ignore his own thoughts.

When he went to pay for the pants, Kurt noticed the size differences and wanted to point this out to Sebastian, who flushed almost immediately. Kurt then turned redder than ever, realising hat he'd underestimated Sebastian's size.

"Oh," Kurt rubbed his neck. "It's just… um…"

Sebastian looked away from Kurt's face. "It's alright, Gay Face," he said. "No harm done."

Kurt gave him a pointed look. "Really?" he said. "You're going to say _that_ to me? Have you forgotten that we've been talking to each other for the last five months now, Sebastian? Have you forgotten that _I know you?_ "

Sebastian shuddered because he didn't think that anyone _knew_ him. "You don't know me, princess."

"I'm sure," Kurt said dryly, as he threw his heap of jeans on the counter. Sebastian caught sight of the size.

When he realised that he wore the same size as Kurt, he felt angry because Kurt looked… normal. And Sebastian at least wanted to be thin—not that Kurt wasn't thin, but he was not _that_ thin. Firstly, Kurt had an ass, which Sebastian desperately lacked, so where was that fat coming from if it wasn't his ass? His thighs? _Gross_.

"Come on," Kurt said, picking up the bags. Yeah, Sebastian was sure that Kurt was doing rows on shopping bags.

Seeing that Sebastian's mind was going into hyperdrive, Kurt pulled Sebastian's new jeans from one of the bags, used his other hand to grab Sebastian's arm and led him back into the dressing room. Before Sebastian could open his mouth, Kurt pulled down his pants (yeah, _this_ wasn't going where you think it was).

" _I_ didn't know you did this kind of stuff in dressing rooms," Sebastian was impressed that Kurt changed in front of him. When they were living together in that room, Kurt refused to even take off his jacket with Sebastian looking.

"Shut up," Kurt looked red in the face as he pulled Sebastian's jeans on to try them on.

When they didn't go past Kurt's calves—which were pretty damn skinny, Sebastian breathed out a sigh of relief. He realised that the cut had to be really straight and weird if they bought jeans int he same size. Wait, did Kurt know what was wrong without Sebastian having to tell him? Huh. They really did spend a lot of time on the phone… _shit_.

"Are you happy now?" Kurt asked, and Sebastian numbly nodded his head. "Good. Let's go eat."


	48. Chapter 48

_sorry for the delay. i actually finished this fanfiction in the last few days, and it's taken forever. i deleted maybe 5-6 chapters and had to scrap and start over again because i just didn't like how it was going. i'm not 100% keen on how it ends at chapter 52, so i'm going to see if i can edit it or just cut it at 51 (though i am not sure what is worse). i've also posted the new fanfiction, which is 'The Curse of Miracles' aka Sebastian being nicer... because he has a brain tumour._

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Forty-Eight

* * *

Sebastian felt more anxious on his first fucking day of school this year than he probably did going into stupid IP where they fed him like he was a pig stuffed in a chicken stuffed in a fucking bed of tofu for the orthorexic part of him. Sitting in the parking lot, Sebastian was so anxious that all he could think about was eating, which kind of made him feel disgusted about himself. Who needed to eat like _an hour_ after they ate fucking oatmeal? You know, the food they tell you to eat when you're trying to cut down on a few pounds because it was super filling?

If his mom knew what he was thinking, she would probably be making pig noises at him now. The only reason he probably hadn't lapsed was because he didn't want to give her the satisfaction that she was right, _the fucking cow and the stupid fucking diet magazines that she kept all over the table because she wanted to 'tone up' yeah fucking right—_

Sebastian was kind of toying with the candy bar in his glove compartment, which probably was going to cause a _Salmonella_ epidemic. It was there for so long it probably had more history than the fucking national museum.

He closed his eyes. He didn't want to be here. He already hated this place. He hated what happened last year.

What was he going to do now? Walk around like he owned the hallways because he was that guy that got the whole school to revamp its system? He was the guy that managed to get to a weight low enough to get himself institutionalised _when_ he was getting help? He was just that used-to-be-fat-kid-former-anorexic-but-now-with-padding guy that liked sucking dick? Another fucking stereotype? What was he supposed to do with that?

 _Have a good first day back, asshole_ , Kurt texted him that morning. Sebastian was pissed. He was hoping he'd overslept and didn't have to go back.

 _Whatever_ , Sebastian replied back, because he was so enthusiastic about it. This was gonna be awkward. Great. Fun.

He sighed deeply. Sebastian knew that he was screwed if he didn't start eating the amount that he was supposed to. It was kind of hard when everything he did and ate reminded him of when he was a fat kid sneak-eating these amazing chocolate cupcakes his mom made for bake sale at three am. Yeah, she definitely wouldn't notice if one, two or _thirteen_ suddenly went missing when she made five dozen trays. Hell, it was her fault she left them out in the open for an always hungry thirteen-year-old kid that always got picked last in any kind of sport. Even though he was good. Even when he was big enough to be rolled down a snowy hilltop, he was _good_. But nobody cared about how good he was.

 _That probably is one of the reasons you're so competitive now_ , Dr Karofsky once told him when he said that. Yeah, no shit.

He bet that if you take any guy in the world and you bought him in front of a therapist, he could pick them apart and find stuff like that. So, what made him so different that he needed help? Why not Dave, who tried to kill himself? Or Nate, whose sister croaked because of an eating disorder and he didn't completely get over it?

Speaking of the devil… Sebastian felt his heart stop when the first person that he saw was Nathan fucking Barnes getting out of his car. He was dressed in the Warbler uniform, looking like he was about to audition for a fucking part as an upstate New York lawyer. He could somehow turn any fucking thing that he wore into his own thing. The red that he used for the uniform was dark, but it looked amazing, and Sebastian knew it was because the dumb fuck couldn't afford the exact cut they used for their uniform. Nathan and his stupid academic scholarship—

Even when he looked like he was pissing himself, he was pretty. Nate threw his backpack over his shoulder, and Sebastian pulled his tattered Nike one that still hadn't completely disintegrated.

"Sebastian?" Nate sounded almost breathless. Maybe he should ask Nick for his inhaler. "Wow."

Sebastian just stared down at him with a raised eyebrow, as Nate gave him the once-over maybe like ten times.

"Wow," Nate said, as if he couldn't exactly take in all the extra layers of flab. Good for him. "You look good."

Before Sebastian could tell him off for being an idiot, Nate grabbed Sebastian's hand. And Sebastian actually tried to block out what happened next because he was sure that it probably damaged most of his brain cells: Nate, this guy that was shorter than him, somehow managed to make him twirl around. Sebastian was disgusted. He was sure that was gayer than actually sucking his cock in the Dalton parking lot at eight am.

"Hey," Sebastian said mid-twirl. "What the hell are you doing? I'm not fucking Cinderella. Let go of me," he wasn't exactly convincing. If he really was annoyed, he would've punched Nate in his balls. "Or at least buy me dinner first."

What was this? His new modelling contract? What for? One of those _Before_ shots in a weight loss commercial?

As if it wasn't bad enough already, Nate inched closer at Sebastian and pulled up his chin. _What the hell?_

"Sure," Nate finally said, and Sebastian stared at him. "About buying you dinner. Hell, I'll buy you a fucking Buick."

Sebastian's heart was beating so fast that he thought he might actually _punch him (?)_ for being such a fucking moron. Nate moved his hand to stroke Sebastian's freckled cheek and inched in just a little closer to…hug him so tightly that Sebastian was sure that his internal organs somehow got squished together. At least that was one way to lose the poundage that he put on. But he really thought that guy was going to plant one on him ala The Corny Romantic Comedy Style.

"I thought you'd be pissed that I didn't call you," Sebastian suddenly said, clearing his throat. "Not once."

Nate pulled away, his face softening. "No," he said. "Hell, Seb… I-I want to apologise." _What was wrong with this guy?_

"Apologise for _what?"_ Sebastian asked. Not knowing that he was about to go into a cardiac arrest on their date? Caring too much about what was happening to him when Sebastian wasn't being fair? What did this guy want?

Nate looked down at his feet and stuffed his hands into his pocket. "We're going to be late for class," he said.

Sebastian didn't care about class. Nate was thinking about something, and it was obviously bothering him. Nate walked him to his class and let him keep most of his stuff in his dorm room. Nate stuffed a piece of paper inside of Sebastian's blazer before he got into his first class. Sebastian breathed out in a sight of relief because other than the initial once-over, people didn't seem to care about who the hell he was. They probably didn't make the connection who he was last year yet. He hoped they didn't care about that kind of stuff, but he fucking doubted it.

When he sat in the back, Sebastian opened the note that Nate stuffed in his pocket.

 _Meet me at Breadstix tonight at seven_. Sebastian read, and then he felt himself smiling a little bit. _You did want me to buy you dinner first, right?_ He didn't know if this was a date, but he was already feeling nervous. He didn't know what the hell he was supposed to wear, and he wasn't the kind of guy that even knew what Breadstix even looked like.

He went by most of the day thinking about what Nate wanted to tell him. Because why the hell would this guy that literally scarified all his free time for months just to entertain him have to be sorry about? For thinking that he wasn't going to make it, just like his sister didn't?. Sebastian didn't think that was a fucking secret either. He was surprised that he made it, and he was pretty sure that he wasn't supposed to. It was like every day since the day that he almost croaked when he got that cardiac arrest was kind of a miracle. Which was why he wasn't 100% pissed when he had to sit with the Warblers and he discovered that Hunter Clarington was still there. He wasn't going anywhere. Gross.

Nick kept on looking at him when he was eating, because obviously, it was fucking abnormal to chow down now.

"Hey," Nick stared at him with soft eyes, like he was looking at a fucking puppy that just got hurt. Whatever.

Sebastian was biting into his sandwich he almost shattered his own teeth. Just to show him he was still pissed off.

"You're okay now?" Jeff asked, looking like a deer caught in headlights. What was wrong with these guys? Every one of them was acting like he was going to chew them off. As if. He didn't know how much fucking grease was in Sterling's hair, but it was not calorie-free and he wasn't touching it. Disgusting. "As in… you feel better?"

"Yeah, I'm fucking cured," Sebastian spat out venomously. "What do _you_ think? You got eyes, don't you?"

Jeff just stared at him with soft light blue eyes. "Yeah but…" he rubbed his neck. "How do you _feel?"_

Fine. Point one for Sterling for caring about Sebastian's _feelings_ and not the fact that he could fit a little better into his uniform…

"Well, Sterling, I feel like I don't wanna sit here with you, because I thought I was a bad captain but you're even worse kind-of wannable friends," Sebastian just said straight up, shrugging. It didn't help him that he was eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich that he packed by himself. He also decided to bring in a Toblerone (not the giant ones, come on), baby carrots and some fat-free milk because obviously, he was scared of 2% milk but didn't mind eating chocolate. "Is _that_ good enough for you, Sterling, or do you want more of a fucking elaboration?"

It didn't seem like it mattered how much he ate because Jeff was pushing this giant cookie towards him. Fuck him. But okay, second point for Sterling because technically, Sebastian was supposed to be doing the full-fat milk thing…

"What would _you_ have done?" Nick asked him, and it was just one question but it pretty much destroyed Sebastian.

Sebastian opened his mouth to retort and then realised… he couldn't.

Because he was trying to think about what he was supposed to do, and he realised he didn't know. If Sebastian was in their position and he had to deal with himself, he didn't fucking know how to deal with it. Sebastian's cheeks became flushed and red. He knew himself better than anyone, and how he thought but… he was so damn sick that he didn't think that anyone could've helped him. He wasn't even sure what made him want to start trying! It had to be something worthwhile. What were they supposed to do about his dad hurting him? Were they supposed to _save him?_

He was too scared to fucking go to the police for them to help him. What did he expect a couple of high school students to do? He could barely talk to his own damn therapist. Was he supposed to spill his secrets to _Sterling?_

"I…I don't know," Sebastian admitted, rubbing his arm. "But I almost fucking died. So it wasn't that great, was it?"

"No," Nick replied, and Sebastian seriously had forgotten most of the crap that he'd been through with these guys. "I know it's hard to believe it, but we actually _do_ care about what happens to you. If you… you know, if you…"

"Yeah, I know," Sebastian didn't wanna talk about it anymore. If he died, they probably wouldn't have forgiven themselves just like Sebastian had that problem with Dave before. He probably would've cut his heart out for Dave to forgive him. He knew how they must've felt, so why the hell was it so hard to talk about it? He didn't have a grudge. He just didn't know how to talk to anyone about this kind of stuff. "But it wasn't good enough. _I deserved better."_

"I know," Nick replied, and Sebastian was pretty surprised at how calm he felt like. Like all this fucking rage that he had shimmering inside of him was finally being tamed. "Can you tell us how you wanna fix it?"

Sebastian didn't know why he said what he did. Maybe all those fucking months of intense therapy probably made finally be able to stay what was on his mind instead of letting it boil his blood. "I can't stand my fucking mother. I want to get out of there," he said, rubbing his shoulder. "I hate my fucking family. I want a new one."

He couldn't fucking believe that he let his stupidest, truest desires sound out to the fucking Dalton dining hall.

Sebastian was so embarrassed that his initial reaction was fucking humiliation. Who told a couple of seventeen-year-olds his fucking Disney fantasy of getting _a weal family?_ Come on. He was sure that there were twelve-year-old kids that probably wished that a car ran over their parents just so they could sleep in on a school day without anyone nagging them. His mom was a cancer survivor— _again_ , and his sister had her own baby that she didn't have any clue to help. And his dad—fine, his dad had some problems, but that was it. Was he seriously pissed off about the fact that his mom collected his appointment reports like they were fucking sports trophies? Did he really wish that his family could sit around and do board games that he didn't want to play, just like Gay Face's family did?

He crumbled faster than a slice of his mom's flaky apple death pie. She'd probably never make him that because _he was so fat_. Ha ha. He hoped that next time she got third degree burns the next time she tried to melt butter. "Um… shit," he said.

"Sebastian…?" Jeff's voice was soft. The initial shock hadn't completely got over.

 _"SHUT UP, STERLING!"_ Sebastian yelled. He got up from his seat, and then grabbed his bag, tossing it over his shoulder. He was so red it was bad. How was he supposed to recover over that?

The last thing he saw was how stunned Nick looked like. And nobody laughed at what he said, but Sebastian could practically hear the zealous laughter echoing in his head. Because how pathetic was that, right? _I want a new family. My old one is mean._ Aw. And what else did you want? To go back to wearing diapers, you fucking pathetic social reject?

Sebastian just wanted to fucking hide out until the earth swallowed him whole, but he went to his next two classes.

After having two periods of biology seep into his brain, he wanted to bolt. He really did, but the teacher told him to go to the counsellor, you know, the one that they'd been trying to get him to go to all this time. Sebastian was pretty sure that the new class he was in kind of knew who he was now, because they were staring at him. Sixteen-year-old kids talking behind his back. As if they were waiting for him to do something interesting, like faint, or you know… _die_.

He felt a little anxious sitting there in the counsellor's room, because he didn't know what he was going to say? _Sorry, I didn't visit you last year I thought you were a waste of my time and still do even though I'm still sick?_

The first thing she did was weigh him, and of course he looked down. He didn't expect it. He didn't fucking mentally prepare himself for it, and he didn't know how to feel about the number. Because he was already on the fucking cusp of being a normal weight and that was when he was clothed. He was a normal weight now, but this was him in his fucking heavy ass Dalton clothes after eating enough to make a polar bear vomit. The last time he weighed himself, he was the same weight. He was wearing a couple of light sweats, no shoes, and hadn't eaten nothing.

A part of him felt euphoric. Another part of him was fucking terrified because he didn't know how to eat anymore with his mom practically telling him off all the time for how much he was eating.

The counsellor lady, Robin, was actually really nice to him. It kind of made him feel bad he didn't see her last year.

After that, Sebastian would normally have lacrosse practice but a) they didn't do try-outs for the team yet, b) he didn't know if they would let him come back with the team now that they knew how many knee surgeries he had and c) if he actually did have lacrosse, he didn't think he could focus on it with what Nathan fucking Barnes wrote to him.

Ditto for the Warblers. If they took him back, would it be because they were guilty or because he could sing?

Even though he didn't want to, Sebastian headed back home. Even though he knew that he was going to end up fighting with his mother, he ended up heading back home. And surprise, _surprise!_ He regretted it almost immediately.

His mom was sitting with her bitchy friend when he came in and they were talking about how Sebastian didn't visit or ask her not once about how she was like when she was sick with cancer. All he could think about was how his mom weighed _so much less than him_ and how he was so desperate to fill into her skinny jeans. Obviously. Hearing his mom trash-talk him sort of made him want to burst out into fucking tears, because he wasn't like that, okay? Sebastian knew he didn't talk to his mom when she was sick, and he was sure before he had a reason. Now? Not so much…

When he got to his own room, he cried because he was so damn pathetic. He couldn't take his mom calling him out on being self-absorbed about his stupid fucking eating disorder and how he looked like.

Sebastian paced aned around his bedroom, because he didn't know what the hell he was going to do to himself the more he was in this house. He couldn't even call his stupid sister because she had a baby, so why should she be dealing with another blubbering, pathetic crybaby like him? Sebastian rubbed his eyes, and then tried to tell himself that he was okay. He took a three-hour nap afterwards, and then felt a little better when he woke up. He was still humiliated and probably would be for the rest of the school year, but maybe if he could somehow insult Trent's bulldog face, then he could somehow attempt to redeem himself for acting like he was starring in a Disney special.

Sebastian just threw whatever he found in his closet on him. Good thing it was all black. He was sure that that was the only way that he could be okay with how he looked like. Sebastian tried to do his hair. Fail.

He was late coming into Breadstix and he wished that he would've played a little dress-up because Nate looked like he was there to propose. He was all pretty in his suit, and loafers that were so shiny you'd think they were new. But Sebastian knew Nate and he knew Nate didn't have enough money to fork over for new shoes. He was sitting there, looking at the menu anxiously. Sebastian looked at his watch, and realised that he wasn't as late as he thought. He walked towards the booth, and sat across from Nate, who looked at him with a softened expression.

"Hey," Nate said, reaching for Sebastian's hand. Bold move. "What's with the black? Funeral?"

Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm going to yours," he said. "You better have a fucking good reason for what you said this morning. You know, about being sorry because I don't know what the hell you got to apologise for."

Nate cleared his throat, and before he could say anything, Sebastian made one thing clear.

"If you tell me that you're telling me after we eat, then I'm bolting," Sebastian said, and he meant it. He was sick of all the padding sweet bullshit that he sometimes listened to. He just wished someone would just tell him how it was sometimes. "So, you know what? I want to cut to the chase, Barnes. Believe it or not, I'm a big boy. I can handle it."

Nate looked nervous now. "I'm sorry about pushing you to date me," he admitted. "That was so fucking unfair."

"What?" now, Sebastian wished maybe that he could've broke it in better.

Nate just shrugged and then sighed deeply. "Look," he said, looking seriously at him. Sebastian just raised his eyebrow at him. "I had feelings for you before you got sick and that's literally the only thing that makes me think that I'm not just looking after you because of my sister, right? But I don't think that I should've said yes to us going out. I don't think I should've pushed you, because you had all this crap to deal with. You had to figure things out for yourself and I feel like I made it worse. Plus, you nearly dying on our date kind of ruined it."

Sebastian almost wanted to laugh. That was… so sweet. He never had someone like that before.

"Are you _blushing?"_ Nate asked, surprised. And yeah, Sebastian was red again, but he didn't mind it so much.

"Yeah," Sebastian nodded his head, smiling a little. He was pretty sure that him dying on the date ruined it too. But he guessed it wasn't a bad first date. Nate just made his heart stop. What could he say? "You know what I figured out?"

Nate's eyes were on the menu. If he got a salad, Sebastian was slaughtering him. "What?"

"I know this is weird, but maybe people aren't as bad as I probably thought they were," Sebastian might consider being legitimately nice again. Sure, he called people before and they didn't bother helping him out. So what? He called Gay Face too that once time, and he bitched at him. But now, they were pretty good friends. And that guy literally got him kicked out of his house and took pictures of him half-naked on his car next to a box of salad. But he was also the guy that literally put his whole damn future on hold because he wanted him to get better. Crazy, right?

"Today, Nick was asking me—you know, if the situations were reversed… what would I have done?" Sebastian asked, and then bit down his lower lip. "If professionals were having trouble helping me, why did I find it insulting that they couldn't, you know? Why did I care so much that they tried to send me flowers instead of seeing me up front? Because I was just thinking about it… and if they did come to see me instead of getting me flowers, what would they say? _I didn't know that your dad was crazy enough to try to kill you? Sorry?_ I'm pretty sure if they came to say me every day, it wouldn't have mattered so much either. Because I don't know what I want. I just get pissed when people don't know."

Nate was staring at him with a glossy expression. "Wow," he said, and Sebastian was pretty sure he said that before. He rolled his eyes, but Nate was still glossy-eyed, staring straight at him. "You _changed_. In a good way."

Yeah, he usually didn't tell people his deepest innermost thoughts. "I am so damn sick of fucking myself over."

Nate nodded his head. "Good," he said, and Sebastian smiled a little because that bastard agreed with him. But he got the gist. You couldn't have bad communication with just one person. It was usually two. And he had a complete breakdown in his communication. "It was maybe 5% your fault and the rest of it was ours but it's pretty big that you realised that you aren't really that great at communicating your problems. But now, I heard from Drew that you had an issue with living with your mom right now. Apparently, you blurted it out in lunch today."

Sebastian just went red in the ears, and he felt his stomach churn. Drew was probably the only other guy that was both on the Warbler and lacrosse group circle like Sebastian was. "Yeah? You listen to Buckteeth Drew?" he said. _"Waiter!"_

Nate laughed so hard. "Really, Seb? Do you even _know_ what you want from scanning the menu for five seconds?"

Sebastian was intently glaring at his menu trying to figure out what he wanted when Nate told him that. As far as his story went, he just had a sudden need to shove down enough carbs to send him back into a coma in the ICU.

"I always know what I want," Sebastian said, rubbing his arm. "I'm getting this sexy-looking salmon dish."

Nate looked pissed. "I didn't realise I had to compete with a fucking fish," Sebastian laughed. Wasn't Nate on the swim team before? He was pretty sure that Nate was pretty much good at everything and he was nice. And he helped his mom, you know, with the food bills and stuff. He was pretty sure Nate babysat and tutored kids for money.

What was up with this guy? There was something weird about him that radiated off Gay Face too—

"Wait, wait, wait… are you a virgin?" Sebastian suddenly asked, only for Nate to go even redder. "Shit. You _are."_

"What the hell spurred this on?" Nate asked, looking down at his lap. "Fuck you, Sebastian Smythe."

"If only you knew how to, right?" Sebastian won the jackpot. Hook, link, sinker. Yeah, he was still on the fish puns, because you know what? He knew there was something fishy about Nate. "I was looking for what the catch was, you know, with you being supposedly the perfect guy… and now I know that you probably don't know how to get off."

Nate glared his eyes. "So, me being a virgin taints my perfection?" he asked. "Not me being an obsessive clingy loser?"

"Yeah, now that you mention _that_ …" Sebastian smiled a little and laughed. He did actually get that salmon thing when the waiter came by. How come every sort-of-trying-to-be-high end place served their salmon with mashed potatoes and vegetables? As if there wasn't anything else to do with it. Whatever. It better be perfect.

Nate kept with the seafood theme. He was sure this was his idea of foreplay. He got some shrimp stir-fry thing. And they got fried calamari for a starter. Fine. Maybe Sebastian did laugh, and he even blushed a little. This was _cute_.

If he was like thirteen, this would be the perfect date. You know, if he was a big fat virgin like Barnes.

"So, tell me," Sebastian stared at him seriously. Was this actually a date, because he wasn't sure? All Nate said was that he owed him dinner, but the way he was dressed, you know? Plus, he wasn't exactly at risk of getting into cardiac arrest, which half-made him feel proud and half-made him pissed off that he wasn't that thin anymore. "Did you actually bother watching any porn, or are you afraid that your mom will know that you're gay? Do you want me to buy some candles with your first time with your hand, or are you just going to be doing it traditionally?"

Nate just smirked at him, and Sebastian knew that he was in trouble. "Tell me about your ex-boyfriend. I am so, so uneducated. I wanna know how you managed to have a fucking boyfriend that never took you out. That traditional?"

Sebastian couldn't help but laugh. "Thatcher?" Nate looked grossed out by that name. "What? Too thug for you?"

"Did his mom actually look at him when he was a baby and think that that's the perfect name for him?" Nate asked.

"Uh huh. That's his last name," Sebastian said, and Nate looked like he wanted to sink into his seat. Come on. This was gold. He literally thought that was his first name. Sebastian leaned into his table, and Nate just stared over at his body, which made him feel self-conscious, but he tried to forget about it. "What are… what are you looking at?"

"I'm a dick," Nate said, shaking his head. "Are… are you cold?" he grabbed his bag and threw his lacrosse jacket at him. Wow. He hadn't seen one of these pretty much forever. It was navy blue with red lettering.

Sebastian wasn't cold, but he couldn't help but get over the number. "You're such a fucking stalker. You know I picked number eleven because I'm an eleven out of ten, right? And you're not a ten. You're like a seven. Eight max."

Nate shook his head. "I'll take that as a compliment since when you had a crush on Blaine, you rated him as a seven."

Yeah, this guy was just shooting himself in the foot. It was almost sad.

"You're such a fucking stalker," Sebastian just shook his head. "What did you call yourself? _An obsessive clingy loser?"_

He reached over to hold Nate's hand a little and it was sweatier than anything.

"Do I make you nervous?" Sebastian asked, only for Nate to grab his jacket back from Sebastian's hands because he was afraid that he might accidentally give him an STD just by looking at it. "You're not even this sweaty at practice."

Nate wiped his sweat off with the napkin. "You're the worst friend I have," Sebastian looked sad. "Wait, no, shit I didn't mean it like…" Sebastian couldn't help but laugh. What a loser. "I hate you," he decided to say.


	49. Chapter 49

**Eat Your Words**

Chapter Forty-Nine

* * *

Sebastian put on his headphones in his car and leaned back to listen to whatever was hot on the list (he had to know even if it was crap) while he was reading something ancient. It had been like two days since he read a book.

He had a problem if he read literally all the assigned reading for the year in two weeks. He was reading the French version of _Pride and Prejudice_ because he was obviously a loser. Sebastian was supposed to go going home now, but there was absolutely no way that he was going to do that. His heart nearly doubled over when Nate opened the door to his car and slipped right in like he owned it. Sebastian put down his headphones and glared at him.

"What are you doing here?" Nate asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "Your car isn't even on."

Sebastian rolled his eyes at him. "What? You wanna pay for my gas?" no way he was going to waste it.

The truth was he agreed to meet Kurt at like four in the Lima Bean, where he promised that he was going to let him try this new frappuccino-thing that they were going to start pushing along with this new cake that could save the world hunger crisis. Kurt was probably going to talk about something boring, so Sebastian had already prepared some topics that were a little more interesting. You know, ones that didn't scream _I like my bath bombs to be glittery like me_. Yuck.

Nate reached over to grab the book from Sebastian's hand and then looked at it. "Yeah, from the cover I know this is _Pride and Prejudice_ ," he said. Yeah, Nate took French, but their French class wasn't exactly a fucking degree in French. "You do know that the point of the assignment was to read it in English, right?"

Sebastian cleared his throat and grabbed his book back. "Yeah, I know," he said. "I already finished it."

"The book?" Nate stared at Sebastian like he was crazy. "We just started the school year— _oh_ …" he found Sebastian's Nike backpack, and then found the English copy too. Along with like three other books. "You like to read."

"Whatever," Sebastian smacked Nate's hand away from his bag. "Did you actually come here for a reason?"

Nate looked impressed. "The Warblers asked me if you're still around. They wanted to tell you something at lunch, but you weren't around," Sebastian nodded his head. He was trying to get the coach to get him back on the lacrosse team. His counsellor took him out a period before just to talk to him about his food intake because he lost a little more weight, but it made him underweight. No good. If he didn't gain any back soon, he was in big trouble.

"Yeah," Sebastian nodded his head. "I'm eating but I'm not gaining any weight. The coach won't let me back on the team unless I put on more weight and the counsellor lady refuses to talk to the counsellor. _And my mother is_ …"

His hands were shaking. He was so pissed off at his fucking mother. "A colossal fucking bitch."

Sebastian was sure that thinking about his mom made his blood pressure higher than eating a bucket of fried chicken.

"Come on," Nate said, opening the door. "I really think you should go meet up with the Warblers right now. And later tonight, you can sit around in your bubble bath and read Jane Eyre." Fine. Score for Nate.

Sebastian hadn't been in the choir room for so long he almost forgot how it was like.

Warbler try-outs and practice didn't start out yet, but everyone pretty much hung around the room at the same time, mostly to catch up. Sebastian thought it was lame and didn't come to any of it. But he had never been in the room like this before. It was cheesier than nachos. Everyone was sitting around wherever they wanted. There was a banner with a sickly-sweet _WARBLERS REUNITED_ that could make a diabetic croak. They had homemade desserts everywhere.

Sebastian didn't even bother grabbing a plate. He sat next to the dessert table, and then picked off this giant chocolate cupcake from Jeff Sterling's plate. Most people would get pissed off, but not a lot of people would shove their plate into your lap and ask you if you wanted something to drink along with the food that you stole.

When he was eating, he suddenly flushed because he almost forgot for a second that he was eating cakes and some sugar-filled junk with Kurt in like an hour and now, he was sitting here, eating fucking cupcakes. _What the hell?_

Sebastian was starting to feel a little sick. Yeah, he had a giant sweet tooth. He probably normally ate something sweet like two or three times a day, but like a candy bar at lunch and maybe a big cookie after dinner. He forced himself to cap it at that because if he didn't, he'd probably eat cake for breakfast along with his oatmeal. Seriously. He didn't eat giant muffins that were denser than a rock anymore. Sebastian tried to calm himself down. He'd just eat something low-carb for dinner, right? But at the same time, some part of him was pissed off at his food fears. He was never going to be free of his eating disorders if he couldn't eat flour, sugar, gross vegetable oils and eggs baked without crying.

Sitting there, kind of depressed and seething, he almost forgot that the Warblers wanted him down here for something. And they were embarrassing because they called out _attention_ to everyone when Sebastian was having his sugar crisis.

"Hey," Trent said, sitting next to him and looking a little nervous. "I'm sorry about the Dave thing."

"I'm sorry too," Sebastian said, and he was surprised by how much he meant it too. "And about not knowing when to shut the fuck up?" Trent looked intimidated but he nodded his head. He reached out and grabbed Sebastian's hand in this weird intimate moment. He hoped that that guy didn't think that he could get laid by Sebastian. No way.

Sebastian couldn't help but look at Nate to see him staring there, looking mildly jealous. Obsessive clingy loser.

"Um… I wanna do better?" Trent looked like he was finding it hard on what to say. "With you I mean. This year."

"Sure," Sebastian didn't get where this guy was heading towards. A dinner date at a high-end restaurant where he got time to practice their French... kissing? How about they meet up somewhere in a park and sing to birds in their spare time? Or volunteer to help old ladies with arthritis cross the street, because he was so nice and reformed now?

Trent cleared his throat, and then reached out to grab his phone. He was lucky Sebastian was already trying to bug Kurt for the last ten minutes. He opened his Notes app through his outdated iPhone and then started typing.

What was this? A fucking confession to his undying love? Was Dixon going to give him a little baby secret?

"What the hell is _this?"_ Sebastian just recognised that it was an address. And Dixon's digits. He wasn't interested.

Trent looked a little more than nervous now. "Um… well, the Warblers and I were talking, and we decided that my house is probably the best. You know, for you to move into. You know, after you said that stuff at lunch about… about not wanting to stay with your mom anymore," Sebastian stared at him with a confused facial expression. Seriously? "It's big and there's a lot of space and my parents are foster parents. They're used to taking people in all the time. And—um… well, they read the newspaper when the scandal about your dad was there. So, when I told them about you having trouble with your mom, they said that they're going to try and call social services. They said that you should probably talk to your psychiatrist about writing a letter about how you're not obviously like safe at home."

 _His mom versus the foster system, take one million_. Back then, they didn't have proof that he lived in an abusive house.

"I hope it's okay," Jeff said suddenly. "I mean… I know that you and Trent especially have a weird history, but like Kurt kind of almost ruined your life. But you're best friends now. So, we were hoping that it's okay?"

Sebastian was stunned and then Trent cleared his throat again. Trent was a foster kid? He didn't know that.

"Isn't this about the time that you tell me that you guess you'll be able to try to stand me since we're going to be living together?" Trent asked, but Sebastian didn't know what the hell he was going to say. "Or you know, how you're totally going to steal my underwear and run it up the flagpole? If you could carry something that large?"

"Sebastian?" Nick was looking worried too, as he reached out to hold him by his shoulder. "Hey?"

Yeah, he was too busy, thinking about how a problem he had for seventeen years of his life might just fixed. But you know, he was keeping it as cool as the chocolate-frosted cupcake that he had on his lap. That was _melting_.

"Are you okay with that?" Trent looked like he was freaking out because he broke Sebastian. "You can come for dinner on Friday. They're going to probably make steaks with potatoes and some salad. Is that oh—"

In a swift and fluid-like motion, Sebastian got up and managed to heave Trent out of his chair to hug him.

"Yeah, it's fine," he said. The hug lasted for like three seconds, no more but Trent looked amazed. "Don't get used to that, princess, because I'm not here to suck up your ass. And thanks for the suggestion about the whole underwear in the flagpole thing. I have a thing for classics," he was probably going to have to do it just so the Warblers didn't think that he was going soft on them because he ate a cupcake and agreed to live with a guy he hated last year.

When he met up with Kurt that afternoon, he told him about what happened.

"I didn't know it was that bad, with your mom," Kurt said. He looked guilty.

Sebastian cocked his head to one side, and he knew he told people he hated his mom, and the stuff that she did before, but it was unconvincing too when you met this woman that was nice to everyone else. "She makes pig noises whenever I eat. It's pissing me off," Sebastian cocked his head to one side. "And she put her cupcakes in the freezer because she's afraid I'll eat them all before she could take them down to her fucking book club."

He hoped they all choked on icy frosting. Or if they'd cut open that cake and it'll be raw and stone-cold in the centre.

Kurt looked horrified. "You're kidding," Sebastian just shook his head. "It's just… she seems so—"

"Yeah, I know," Sebastian said, leaning back against his chair. "But that's the thing, you know? My mom is good at playing me, and she's really good at convincing other people that she ain't so bad. But I can't do it no more. Because I'd rather spend the rest of my life with my dad than spend another week with her."

Even his dad telling him that he wished he'd choked him as a baby wasn't so bad. Because his dad hated him. He was the worst baby in the world, but his mom convinced him for most of his life that she was on his side. That hurt.

They were sitting in the Lima Bean. Kurt got him this drink and it was like a mountain of calories upon calories. Sebastian had no idea how the hell he was going to be able to drink that without getting rid of it. But he tried to tell himself to suck it up. If he couldn't eat whipped cream without getting palpitations, then he shouldn't have left the stupid IP place, alright? Sometimes, talking tough to himself was the only way he could deal with stuff like this.

But this time, it wasn't helping him so much. Seeing that much cream on chocolate on nuts was no good.

"Hey, I know it's hard for you to get it," Sebastian said, looking at Kurt's thinking face. "You lost your mom."

"Yeah," Kurt nodded his head, staring at the wall. "I guess it's hard for me to forgo first impressions and her first impression was very damning. Your mother could probably be an actress. I just… wonder how she's like when nobody else is around and just you two are together. And I suppose it's hard for me to get over how sick she looked like the last time I saw her. I also feel like I should've told you to come back after you left the IP place. I just assumed that you want to go back home to your family… I didn't think that you wanted to come back here."

Sebastian gave him an _are you serious_ look. "But I told you that I hated to be with her," he said. "Yeah, she was sick. I get it, but I was sick too. She's pissed off that I didn't care about her, but where was she when I got sick?"

Kurt looked confused. "I never thought of it like that," he admitted. "I'm sorry, Sebastian."

"I'm sick of people being sorry for me," Sebastian said, looking at his cake. He could practically smell the butter. "I deserve a lot of credit for the stuff I did. I know I fucked up, but people fucked up too. And I'm trying hard, and I guess that people are trying hard too. But I'm nobody's pathetic puppy. I'm finally gonna get away from my fucked-up family and I'm gonna have something that looks kind of normal. So, _stop_ feeling sorry for me."

Kurt looked surprised but then he agreed. "You're right," he said. "Would you visit me in New York?" Sebastian just looked grossed out. He was barely visiting Kurt in the Lima Bean and that was because he liked this place.

"And what? Try to play out our hopes and _magical whimsical musical dreams?"_ Sebastian mocked. Kurt then nodded his head, crossing his arms over his chest. "Depends. Are you paying me to go to New York?"

Sebastian spent his evening not doing his homework that he was sure he could do at five am in the morning tomorrow (he woke up earlier to avoid seeing his mom's face). He knew he could technically have ask the guys to spring for a dorm room, but he didn't want a dorm room. He wanted to be with some normal people that would give a shit about him if he went missing for a few days. He bet he could die in here tomorrow and his mom wouldn't notice his body until it started smelling funny. Sebastian looked up the part of upscale Ohio Trent lived in.

It was nice. Sebastian could imagine waking up in the morning just to go for a run. It was that kind of place.

He looked through his drawers to see how much money he could save up from selling things, so you know, he could buy some something nice like a couple of flowers. Sebastian wasn't one of those guys that got an eating disorder and was crazy about cooking or baking like some of the other ones he saw in the IP place were. Sebastian did mostly cook for himself, but he'd be hard-pressed to be bake a cake the way his mom did. And like he wanted his mom to catch him trying to bake a cake. She'd probably think that he was making it for himself to eat since he couldn't eat hers.

When he was at home, he got seriously depressed. He didn't know how to fix it. Knowing that he was going to be moving out only made the day somehow even more unbearable. Even staying in the room didn't do him any good.

He couldn't believe that he was doing this, but he called Trent Dixon. Seriously.

Trent picked up and he even sounded confused when he said, "Hello? Sebastian?" his voice was low. "It's pretty late."

Sebastian looked at the time. He stayed up late, because he didn't know how else he was supposed to eat. His mom tried to feed him vegetable broth for dinner. What was he supposed to do with that? Even if he was fucking sick, he'd eat more than fucking vegetable broth for dinner. Then he heard barking in the background. "You have a _dog?"_ yeah, sue him. He liked pets. He was going to visit them and then come back and give his mom allergies. This was amazing!


	50. Chapter 50

_there are two chapters i'm uploading because it's the last two... so i thought why not since i have both done?  
_

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Fifty

* * *

Three weeks later and like three pounds lower, Dr Paul Karofsky wasn't happy. The only reason he hadn't been institutionalised was because he was obviously just a _little_ underweight, and the second one was because he was obviously trying. And the third reason was because he was trying to tell the doc that he'd put on what he was supposed to be putting on after he got out of the IP place once he had a family that wasn't feeding him freeze-dried veggie and steamed rice for dinner. Gross. Sebastian was sure that even Trent's shiny dog wouldn't eat the stuff his mom tried to pass him off as dinner these days. The doc seemed to be surprised to hear about that.

He sometimes wanted to ask about Dave, but Sebastian was trying to stay away from him.

Yeah, he could fix things up with the Warblers—especially Trent—but he couldn't fix things up with Dave. He had way too many chances to make it much better for him but instead he crushed his heart out into a pulp. No thanks.

Getting prepared to have a real family was more exhausting than running a marathon. Which he'd done before.

His mom nearly scratched his eye off the day after the social worker visited. His eye was now swollen and red, and Sebastian didn't know what kind of basket-fucking-case would go for his eyes when _he_ was trying to make a case!

Sebastian wasn't hiding it. He was proudly displaying it to everyone that would see so that they could make a case for him. But today, he was going to move into Trent's house and Sebastian was kind of excited. He thought that his mom would've somehow tried to convince the social workers that she used to take care of him when his father would beat him up. She'd sing him soft sweet lullabies as she injected three helpings of hot fudge sundae in his bloodstream at three in the morning, so he'd forget about how much his jaw hurt after being socked in the face.

That night, when he drove by _his_ new house in a nice neighbourhood, he felt so out of place.

Wow. Sebastian was pretty shook that he was actually here, you know? It felt like a fucking _miracle_.

Sebastian just stayed in his car for a little bit, staring at them from afar. They had giant windows, and Sebastian was spying on them. He tried to scope them out while he stayed in his car for a little while. They were watching a movie, and everyone looked relaxed. It was a big family. They kept their lights open even outside, and Sebastian could see they had plants. There were flowers in the bushes, and they looked nice. Not purple though. Red. Pink. Yellow.

Sebastian smiled a little bit, and then picked up a book from his bag. He was reading _Sarah's Key_ , in French. Nate bought for him a few days ago. He was down to the last few chapters.

Nate had been doing this thing sometimes where he'd catch Sebastian in his car reading. He'd come right in, grab his book and start reading for him. It was cheesier than a four-cheese Domino's, but it was also pretty nice. Most days, Sebastian just closed his eyes, leaned back against his car and listened to Nate as he suffered through his hot car because Sebastian wasn't wasting gas on keeping it cold. At first, Nate just read whatever Sebastian was reading but recently he'd been bringing his own books. One of them was this _Intuitive Eating_ book, and he even got him some workbook with it for his meal plans. He also read him _Brain Over Binge_. Sebastian thought that was even cheesier.

Nate tried to read him some fiction about it too, but it was way too damn triggering. Plus, all Sebastian could think about was how he wanted to lose ten million pounds, so that was out quickly.

But Sebastian didn't wanna think about his eating disorder all the time either—which was news to him. He tried to get Nate to branch out a little, so these new ones were perfect. He bought him French books a lot, and it was great because Nate's French was bad. And having him read it out in French was the best thing that he'd ever experienced.

He called Nate after a few minutes and kept him on speaker phone as he read to him the last few chapters of his book.

He'd never done it himself, but it felt natural to him. He was sure that Nate couldn't follow the story, but he didn't seem to have a problem. Whenever Sebastian paused for a few seconds because he could see someone was laughing in that house—like a real nice laugh, Nate told him to _continue_ and that _it was okay_. He wanted to know more.

In mid-chapter, Sebastian started to daydream, and then he cleared his throat. "I don't think I can do it," he admitted.

There was a few seconds of silence on Nate's end, but then he asked, "Why not?"

Sebastian didn't know how to explain it. "It just… it feels too easy," he said. He cocked his head to one side. He'd been camping out in his car for like an hour. He was scared that his dad would suddenly pop up, grab his hand and smash it or his mom would stand by the door, screeching about how he abandoned her in her time of need.

"Seriously?" Nate asked and Sebastian laughed. "You had like a million knee surgeries. It was _not_ too easy."

Sebastian stared down at the book. It only had a few more pages to go and he wanted to know how it was going to end, you know? He cleared his throat, but he couldn't say anything. He didn't know what to say.

You know when you had like a thousand things you wanted to say and you didn't know how to start?

He was happy. He was pissed. He was confused. He was scared. He was fucking ecstatic. He wanted to get laid—

"Look, you had a hard life," Nate told him, "But you got to understand that you _deserve_ this. And if you don't go in right now, I will personally fuck you up next time I see you… I guarantee this, Sebastian. If you don't go in soon, your poor new family are probably going to start wondering if your mom kidnapped you. Plus, I don't know if you figured this out but you can't get any better by losing it and driving back home to your mom. You know? The lady that you can't stand and would rather peel your eyelids off slowly than talk to? Yeah, so suck it up. This is _good_ for you."

Sebastian smiled a little bit, and then closed his eyes. "I'm gonna finish this book, then I'm going in."

"You're stalling," Nate told him, but Sebastian wasn't listening. He had three fucking pages to go, alright?

The rest of the book flew by because he was anticipating going in. Then he ended the call and left his car to join in Trent Dixon and the foster folks that he was supposed to be around. Sebastian pulled down Jeff's sweater, which he was currently wearing right now. His stomach was in knots, and he felt like he was about to vomit. No good.

He got his cake out of the car, which was probably dying and then he was carrying the flowers over to the door.

Sebastian knocked and for a split second he was terrified that they'd take one look at him and tell him to leave. He was scared that this was the wrong house. He was scared that they were going to tell him that he wasn't good enough for their picture perfect little fucking family. He was scared, most of all, that they were going to like him, and he was going to like them… and then his mom was going to take him away in two days, and he was going to have to life and die in that horrible, horrible house. He felt sick just thinking about it. He couldn't do it.

He knew that he should've met the folks before, and Trent offered but he couldn't do that either.

Trent opened the door and seemed surprised by the goodies that Sebastian was holding. He took the cake box from him and led him inside. "We were waiting for you," he said. "How's camping out in your car reading been like? I bet it's been torture. It's so hot and humid that I half want to strip down in my shorts."

Sebastian was surprised that Trent spotted that. "Keep your clothes on, Dixon. Nobody wants to see that."

Trent playfully pushed him on the shoulder. Sebastian was nervous seeing how big Trent's family was. His mom was soft and short like Trent. It was amazing that Trent wasn't related to his folks because they looked pretty close. She was dark-haired and was smiling when she saw him. It freaked him out. Sebastian didn't know when his own mom was excited to see him back, so this was weird. His dad was a big guy too, and he looked kind of like Burt—if Burt you know had hair. Could they even take him in? Did they have the space or what? But he decided not to be a dick.

The dad's name was Marshall, and the mom was Holly. Besides Trent, there was Luke, Daisy, Marlene and Pepper. So now, they were split—three guys and three girls. At least that looked…whatever. He gave up.

"Luke is fifteen. He's kind of a nobody," Trent said, and Luke rolled his eyes. He was blond, pastier than the inside of a Boston Cream Doughnut and pretty thin. The fact that Sebastian was jealous of a fifteen-year-old was kind of sad. "Daisy and Marlene are both eighteen and Pepper is seventeen. Daisy likes to read giant boring books. Marlene is into cheerleading and Pepper is on the football team. They all go to Crawford Country Day and Luke goes to Dalton, but you know, as I said, literally nobody knows him, so…" he shrugged. Yeah, Sebastian hadn't seen him around either.

Sebastian was going to be good friends with Daisy and her big, boring books. You know, if he could get around the fact that her thighs were ten times smaller than his. And she was a chick. Weren't they meant to have bigger thighs to push out a baby anyway? Great. His legs were more qualified to push out a tiny human being than Trent's fake sister.

Yeah, cheesy as ever, but he just wanted to know why they were in foster care. He didn't feel comfortable standing there in his tortured Nike backpack and like the only two duffel bags he owned, which he shoved all the clothes. One of them were clothes that he was already too thin for, and the other one was clothes were the tasteless looking bland solid pieces that he bought when he started cutting down in the first place.

"Do you wanna sit down?" Holly asked, as Marshall took the bags from him and sat them at the end of the staircase.

Sebastian nodded his head and sat down on the couch. The couch was super fluffy and felt so homey that he relaxed right into it. He never wanted to leave this place. But at the same time, he wanted to take a piss. Great.

Luke was sat cross-legged on the floor on his phone. Daisy was sitting on this chair, watching whatever was on the TV (looked like something Gay Face would watch. Gross). Marlene was fiddling with her long dark hair. Trent was sitting awkwardly beside Sebastian, and Pepper was about to break her fucking phone. Who was she texting? Five guys at the same time? Holly and Marshall looked like the kind of people that probably fell in love with each other every day from the way that they looked at each other. Sort of gag-inducing, but nice in, you know, foster parents.

Trent was explaining things though, which Sebastian appreciated.

Marlene came from an abusive family too. Deadbeat dad. Her mom used to hit her all the time and lock her in her room. She was apparently super depressed all the time, but she does all the other regular cheerleader stuff too. Trent thought that Sebastian and Marlene might get along because they were 'the same person'. Sebastian guessed that Trent couldn't deal with her if he couldn't deal with him, which was kind of sad but whatever. It wasn't his problem.

From what he saw, she looked totally bored and conceited. It was almost like looking in a mirror. If you know, he had tits and looked like Kim Kardashian's lost baby twin sister. But what the hell stung her lips? They were _huge_.

"They're actually that big normally," Trent told him, but Sebastian wasn't buying it. He didn't remember the last baby he saw that looked like they'd been sucking face with that Jerry Seinfeld bee from that weird kids' movie.

Sebastian looked down at his crotch. "Yeah," he said, smirking a little. Trent called him a pig after.

"Luke's parents died in a car crash. It was pretty bad," Trent said, gesturing to Luke, who was also bored. These guys weren't at all traumatised by Trent talking about this stuff. That was bold.

"Salt and Roses over there?" he gestured towards Daisy and Pepper.

Trent rolled his eyes. "They're actually, you know, Holly and Marshall's actual kids," he said.

Sebastian wouldn't have guessed. Daisy and Pepper had yellow hair, and both Holly and Marshall were dark-haired.

"And you?" Sebastian asked, only for Trent to go red. "What, Dixon? You know about _my_ life story. It's only fair."

Trent just cleared his throat and rubbed his neck. "My mom said that she was going to grab a couple of things from the store, and then she didn't come back for a month. I thought she lost her phone. I was like seven." Sebastian tried to imagine how that must've been like. He could remember how it felt like when his dad snapped his wrist at six. Even if he did other more horrible things, that stuck out, you know? "Believe it or not, I was a pretty sick-looking thing."

"I believe it," Sebastian said. Yeah, like he wouldn't believe Dixon used to be malnourished. He was overfed for most of his life to the point where he was sure that his blood type was Butter. "I'm sorry."

"I do want things to—you know, be okay between us," Trent said. "I see Holly and Marshall as my actual mom and dad. I hope that maybe you could too, but it takes time to you know, to trust new people I guess. Even if they're a lot better to you than your actual parents ever were. I mean… I was a kid, so it's not the same but…um…"

Sebastian didn't even know if he'd be here in a week or if his mom would drag him back to her lair to sacrifice him.

For the rest of the night, he felt like he was under-dressed. He was also so damn nervous.

Even later, when he was sitting at the dinner table, he was kind of trying to mimic what everyone else was eating. But everyone had such different appetites that it wasn't helping. Plus, Sebastian felt fat sitting next to Dainty, Deteriorating Daisy and Little Lean-Limbed Luke. Like you know… take this lardy pig out for slaughter _fat fat FAT FAT FAT._

Everywhere he looked there were carbs and fat slathered on top of one another. They made chicken potpie, which was carb-heavy and served it with mashed potatoes, vegetables and a dinner roll slathered with butter.

Sebastian could barely eat. He ate like half his dinner roll, a quarter of his mash, half his vegetables because they were covered in salty gravy that were going to make him retain weight like crazy and like a quarter of his pie. Sebastian was starving but he also felt sick and stuffed in the same breath. He ate at snail pace, mostly staring at other people eating. They had two giant pot-pies cooked and they were all gone in the first few minutes.

Holly served Sebastian, because there was no way he'd willingly put this much starch on his plate. And he didn't feel like he could stomach the rest of his meal without ending up passing out on the floor from carb overload.

Daisy piled more mashed potatoes on her plate to go along with her pie, and Sebastian was starting to feel sick.

"Sebastian?" Trent looked kind of worried, as he reached over to grab a hold of his shoulder. "Uh… come on."

Sebastian watched Trent take his plate and they both headed away from them. When Sebastian headed upstairs, he didn't expect to see that he was rooming with Trent, but it made sense, right? Especially since Trent used to be his roommate from way before. They sat down on the floor. The carpet was seriously woolly.

Sebastian didn't get why Trent roomed in at Dalton when he had an amazing room here. Seriously?

Trent cocked his head to one side. "You were staring at Daisy like she committed a cardinal sin by eating potatoes."

Sebastian's cheeks coloured in. What was he going to say? Were they going to fucking hibernate after this?

"You know when I said I was going to make it up to you?" Trent asked, and Sebastian nodded his head. "I meant it. I thought if I bought you up here you'd stop focusing on what everyone else is eating. I… obviously eat a lot so…"

Sebastian just felt his shoulders stiffening. "Whatever," he was not looking forward to this.

Trent cleared his throat. "Aren't you like—still too underweight to go into the lacrosse team again? Do you think it helps if you eat like the least amount of food on your plate? Because you're kind of screwing yourself in the end." Oh, wow, Dixon had a little cheek in him. Alright.

"Whatever," Sebastian repeated and smirked a little bit. Yeah, being defeated by a piece of pastry was pretty pathetic.

He guessed he didn't spend nearly half a year locked in the IP place so that he could go out and cry whenever he saw double carbs and had to eat a little butter on his roll. Plus, he liked it. Warm stodgy comfort food at its best kind of thing. And sure enough, when he started actually eating instead of being scared of eating, he was _starving_. But still ate slow, because he was dainty and gay, and it took like twenty minutes for you to know you were full.

Paul Karofsky once told him off when he gave in his food diary because he pretty much ate the same three breakfast, lunches and dinners and then rotated around them. Also, just because he ate chocolate didn't mean he wasn't on a diet apparently. But he didn't know what kind of guy would eat as much as he did and still call it a diet.

 _It's a diet for you and your body_ , he said. _For your body, this isn't enough. Or you wouldn't be losing weight. Let's just assume you go back to lacrosse and your track team and your show choir, how long do you think before you get seriously sick again?_

Apparently telling him that he was going to snack before and after wasn't helpful. Yeah, he got that eating a couple of apples and some peanut butter wasn't going to make a difference when he was going on five mile runs unless he bulked up his main meals, which he obviously had trouble doing because they were so damn big already.

Sebastian and Trent talked through dinner. Sebastian mentioned that Hunter Clarington had a nose that probably took up one third of his face. Trent's initial response was laughter and then he felt like a _big meanie_. Lame.

"You're an awful human being," Trent felt the need to mention to him. Sebastian was obviously hurt. Really?

He rolled his eyes and tried to ignore how much he just wanted to smash his face in his plate. He was so hungry.

Trent was flushing so much, and Sebastian was amazed at how quickly this guy got flustered.

"What do you want to do later? After school?" Sebastian asked, since he decided not to talk to him about what kind of guy he liked. Maybe later since he didn't want Trent to think that Sebastian was hitting on him—gross. Especially since they were trying on route to trying to be _brothers_ , which… was even more gross than them hooking up.

"I'm going to be stereotypical and do the NYADA thing," Trent replied. "I'd ask you but it's still early for you."

"I wanted to eventually go back to France," Sebastian admitted. "But I don't know now, you know…I'll see."

"Is it beautiful there?" Trent asked, and Sebastian just gave him an _are you serious?_ look. "What?"

"Obviously, it stopped being pretty when I left," Sebastian said, and Trent looked like he wanted to choke on his potatoes. "The problem is I don't got the money to go to a school in France, and you know, the grading systems are different. So, I was hoping to get a sports scholarship here and start working some place, you know, to try and get the money to fly back through the three or four years of college. Plus, the experience I guess. I want to end up at least going back to France for good after I graduate. Because the rest of my family is not as bad as my parents—plus, most of them haven't seen me since I lost a hundred-and-something pounds. But yeah, like _that_ 'll happen now."

Plus, he didn't know if he wanted to stay here if Trent's family was as good as he was hoping they were? But it was way too early to say anything about that. Sebastian was pretty sure that he'd leave the Disney stuff for later.

Trent stared at him like he was crazy. "A sports scholarship?" he stared at Sebastian's body. "Um…"

"Yeah, I know, princess," Sebastian rolled his eyes. "I know I'm not getting on the team like this. I know."

Trent stared at Sebastian with a serious expression. "Your eating disorder is worse than you think if it's got you convinced that you'd rather be thin than, you know, get a future." He thought that he was helping with that statement, but he wasn't. Because his stupid eating disorder brain was picking at it like it was a salad covered in fat-free dressing. "I think that's sad; you know. That you never had a good relationship with food, but it's not impossible."

"I guess," Sebastian said. All he got from that was that _you used to be thin_. Great. That was _so_ not Trent's point.

Sebastian was going to graduate at nineteen. What a fucking joke. He didn't want to imagine how hard it was going to be to justify that. The only thing he got for him was that he had a lot of that personal mushy stuff about how his father clocked him in for being gay and how made him a better person—yeah right. His personal statement would be a chore to write from now! Yuck. Sebastian was just hoping that he could kick ass with his grades in his next two years so that he didn't have to convince a school that he had so many emotions and was _so nice now_.

His grandmother miraculously figured his sexuality over the last month and what happened between him and his parents. She was the one that paid for his education, so he had to talk to her last week and she was so pretty upset.

She didn't know that her kid did that to him. She was so damn angry at his dad for the stuff that happened. She called him this morning when he was packing, cursing his mom out so loudly that Sebastian was trying to stifle laughter at five am. Sure, he had a chance to go and live with her but the last time he was in France, some of the most godawful stuff happened to him and he didn't know if he could go until he dealt with it, you know, through…— _therapy. EW._

She was going to send him money every month, which was pretty good. His grandmother was fucking loaded, so it wasn't a big ask. But it really wasn't just about the money. Having someone believe his side of the story immediately was incredible. But Sebastian wasn't hoping to leech off his grandmother forever. He was good enough for a sports scholarship if he really stuck to it 100%. Sebastian knew that. He really was screwing himself if he didn't eat, and he was throwing away what he had planned for his future—but he never heard it said to him like Trent told him, even though he knew it was true. Sebastian wasn't going to get a full ride to any college based on his smarts, because most people at Dalton were geniuses. By the way? Screw Nathan Barnes and his one-million science clubs.

But you know, not everyone in Dalton managed to rise their dying lacrosse team from the ashes. He was _good at it_.

After Sebastian finished eating as much of his plate as he could tolerate, they went downstairs. They cut a slice from Sebastian's a billion-calories-of-cream-and-chocolate-and-caramel chocolate fudge cake that was dense enough to be passed around instead of a lacrosse ball. They topped it with some of this amazing salted caramel ice-cream with graham crackers and honeycomb. They were sitting around the kitchen counter, eating a stupid fucking cake covered in this seriously calorific ice-cream. Sebastian found it even harder to say _no_ because it was sweet, and he had a giant sweet tooth. He was the kid that used to probably ask for liquified Snickers instead of the milk they used to get.

He was too freaked to talk to Holly or Marshall. He didn't talk to anyone else but Trent that night.

And overall, Sebastian felt like a real loser because the first thing he unpacked that morning was his scale and he weighed himself. He was super surprised that he stayed the same. The first thing he felt was relief and the next one disgust because his scale was obviously broken. And he _looked_ fatter too. Sebastian didn't get it.

He stayed up most of that night too. He could hardly sleep. This was what he wanted, so why the hell was he so scared and depressed all the fucking time? Sebastian half-wanted to see his mom so she'd feed him bran flakes for breakfast.

Plus, she wasn't that bad, right? Sebastian could hardly sleep without remembering the times that she used to hold his hand when he was crossing the road because he had an irrational fear of getting hit by a car even when the light said he could walk. She used to walk him to school every day, even when she'd barely slept. Sebastian remembered the times that she once shrieked at their dad just because he was yelling at him, and then took him upstairs and held him when he watched cartoons when he was a little kid. The times that when he was sporting a fever, and she stayed in bed with him even after she got sick. Sebastian was sure that _she was so fucking alone right now,_ _and it wasn't fair_ …

He got up early and got t to school before he could think about eating breakfast.

It wasn't like Nate didn't know that when Sebastian texted him to meet him at the Dalton parking lot at five am. They ended up sharing a box of doughnuts. Sebastian could still probably eat the whole box in one go. He had a thing for doughnuts, especially ones that got different colours. He thought back to his conversation with Kurt. Yeah, him and the dirty dozen. Sebastian obviously needed to be locked up for daring to crave a whole box of this stuff.

Sebastian had never had so many damn people supporting him, _so what the hell was he so depressed for?_ He was less depressed when his father was beating the shit out of him every day and when he was eating next to nothing!

"It's because it's new to have so many people, you know, supporting you. And not a lot of guys would come running at five in the fucking morning to read you a book in your overheated car," Nate told him halfway through butchering the French language. "You got to give yourself some credit. It's pretty obvious that you don't know how to deal with it. But it's okay, you know. You can be spooked about it and your feelings are obviously, you know, _normal_."

Sebastian doubted that any of his feelings were normal. "You know, I feel bad sometimes that we only do stuff that I want to do," he said, sitting up and then staring at Nate for a while. "What do you want to do?"

Nate was surprised to hear that question and then he cleared his throat. "I want to take you out to dinner again."

Sebastian smiled a little bit. "Like a date?" he asked. He was kind of sure that he could do that.

"I want to say yes more than anything, but I think… you know, that we're trying to be friends again, and it's okay if we do things slow, don't you think?" Nate asked. Sebastian agreed but he didn't say that he did in fear of sounding like he belonged in a Nicholas Sparks' novel. "Plus, they opened a new seafood and sushi place near my house."


	51. Chapter 51

_this is the last chapter. thanks, everyone for reading! i uploaded two chapters at once, so be sure that you know that..._

 _also, for those that aren't aware, i also posted a new story which is called 'The Curse of Miracles' which is about Sebastian and his brain tumour... it'll take some time to complete, but i'm hoping to get closer to a regular updating schedule at some point. thank you!_

* * *

 **Eat Your Words**

Chapter Fifty-One

* * *

Sebastian's heart was thumping so fast in his chest he felt like he was about to pass out. He was so sick of seeing scales, and numbers and having a problem. It was _that_ kind of day—the best kind of day to get better. It helped that he actually managed to get himself his own doughnuts, which he enjoyed the _Shopaholic_ series. Thanks, Gay Face.

He was cursing his counsellor. Robin was such a wears-glasses-and-has-short-dark-hair kind of name. Which she _did_.

The 1950s called and they said they wanted their retro skirts and saddle shoes back. What did this chick do? Raid her mom's closet whenever she wanted to go see this kid that had a problem with chewing his food and swallowing?

Not that he had _that_ problem—you know, the chew/spit thing. As if Sebastian could have a problem with swallowing.

How much time did it take for this chick to weigh him? Come on. His eyes probably were burning a hole in the ceiling and he was finding it hard to focus on anything other than his relationship to gravity right now. He wanted to know his weight so he could know how much ab flab he wanted to shed. By the way, if you couldn't tell—he was kidding.

 _That is not funny,_ Kurt told him the last time he said that _. You could've died_. Whatever. He was so melodramatic.

He was fiddling with his fingers, and then looked over at the counsellor lady that was weighing him up. When she looked down at the number (that he would not look at if so help him God), he knew that he did good by the look on her face. A sigh of relief escaped his body and he got off the scales before he knew how much chunks of chub he put on. Sebastian didn't want to see the number, even though he knew that he probably gained like twenty pounds in the past few months. He kind of knew where his weight was, because his old-old- _old_ clothes fit.

He had to dig out this Warbler uniform from the time that he met Blaine for the first time. Great.

Sebastian looked at the lady as she finally, finally—after months of crying, whimpering, pleading, screaming and most importantly, _threatening that stupid bitch_ —stamped off his papers to join back into the lacrosse team. And he felt _nothing_.

Sebastian pretty much stuffed the clean, crisp paper into his file before she could change her mind and tell him that he needed to go down to the Starbucks and order his caramel macchiato with whole milk before she could give him the okay. Like he would! The last time he drank whole milk was when his mom was breast-feeding him.

 _"Congratulations!"_ Robin told him, but Sebastian just felt lower than he was when he started. "You did so well."

"Thanks," Sebastian said. He was so damn sad. He wished he could poke his eyes out and die.

Before he left to go back to his class, she asked if she could hug him. Sebastian extended his arms out and let this thirty-year-old-something chick run into his arms. It was actually the most foreplay he'd gotten. She patted his back and Sebastian nodded at her, feeling sick in the stomach from all the tooth-rotting sugar he scarfed.

"You should be so proud, Sebastian," said Robin to him. "You're trying so hard and it shows."

Yeah, he worked so hard to eat a pint of ice-cream when he was trying to procrastinate his homework.

"Thanks," Sebastian repeated, and his throat hurt. He felt there was something from the inside making it hard to swallow. He was glad it wasn't a fucking spider, because he didn't know what he'd do if it was, you know?

Armed with a note from Robin, he left the office just so he could go back to his class. But he didn't.

The first thing he did when he left the office was lock himself in the closest bathroom he could and cry.

Now, he was… _normal_. Literally just like everyone else. Nothing separated him from the rest of the world.

Sebastian had a family that definitely noticed if he didn't come back home until three am, and he had people that texted him nonstop just to know if his day was okay. He discovered how to play Chutes and Ladders with Luke. Marlene called him pretty much every day to pick him up from some party that she was bored with an hour after she got there. He still didn't talk much with Daisy or Pepper, and he sort of talked a lot with Trent, _but it didn't feel like his life!_ He was trying to teach baby Vicky some swear words. Lena got a job in the Lima Bean because she missed seeing him—which was pretty sweet when you think about it. She literally hated coffee more than anything in the world, and she'd happily serve it to him just to get a chance to talk to him. But the longer he went without talking to his mom, the guiltier he felt knowing that she was probably miserable living alone in that disgusting house by herself.

The thing was he gave up last night and called his mom at eight. He was thinking maybe they could try to fix what they had, but the second she picked up his phone, she told him that she didn't care if he killed himself and hung up.

So, yeah, his mom managed to rob his excitement about getting to his goal weight. She managed to convince him that he was always going to be miserable and that he should've just given up through one fucking sentence. It wasn't fair that his mom did that. Sebastian didn't feel very fragile but all he could think about was hurting himself when he went to sleep that night. He didn't have the luxury to restrict his food anymore. But seriously? Was he so weak and pathetic that one comment from his mom was enough to actually make him wish that his eating disorder actually killed him?

He finished the rest of the day and he felt like a zombie. Even when he went to the coach to give him the papers and did the whole guy-smacking-your-shoulders thing. Sebastian felt hollow on the inside.

He wasn't the same person that he was last year, or last-last-last year. He wasn't the same person period. What if he worked so damn hard to get a place in lacrosse and then discover he didn't like it anymore? That he'd rather be sitting with the fucking book club talking about the weather symbolism in Jane Eyre? Sebastian knew that he wasn't putting on weight solely to get into the team again, but it still felt like it was happening faster than he could even process.

He remembered how it felt like to be thin. He used to be thin. And now, he was… _not_.

That same day that he got his papers signed by the counsellor, Lena used her employee discount to make him this white hot chocolate with whipped cream. It was amazing. Yeah, but even with full-fat whipped cream, he was still asking it to be made with low-fat milk. Eating disorder rules, right?

Sebastian had been thinking way too much in the last few weeks. He knew that he could technically live with her instead of Trent's folks. She wouldn't say no, but it… wasn't what he wanted.

"Do you remember what Dr K said? That you expect that you'd be emotionally okay just because you're at a normal weight?" Lena split a cheesecake with him. "Believe it or not, people that are fat, normal or thin have the _same_ emotions. You just lost your biggest coping mechanism and that's why you're moody. It's not rocket science. I read about it in my new book. _AND_ … I'm going to lend it to you, so you can read it." She read self-help books for her kid.

Sebastian nodded his head. "I know," yeah, he didn't know, but whatever. "When did you become a shrink?"

"Hey, you're not the only one that has problems," she reminded him. "Our parents didn't just screw you over. I literally lived my life thinking that you were just clumsy because you've got the same stretching properties as taffy. I thought that after that, your limbs got the better of you and that you fought a lot in school—because you were a real jerk, Seb. I'm surprised that people are _still_ talking to you. But I didn't know that they had to cut your knee open ten times. Our parents lied a lot," she said. "It's the worst knowing that all that stuff happened, and I was just… _there_."

"Yeah," Sebastian thought that it was worse knowing and not doing than it was actually being the victim. The kind of angst and pain that he had thinking about how much he wanted to make it up to Dave nearly killed him. And it hurt more than any blow to the head or the knee or whatever. It was torturous. "I forgive you; you know."

He almost wanted to revoke it when Lena started producing those water works. "I don't see how-how… you can."

"Whatever," Sebastian rolled his eyes. "Believe it or not, Lee—I don't want to hold anymore grudges on people over stuff that happened a billion years ago. The doc said that I'm not gonna get any better if I don't, so I'm over it." He knew that if he didn't get over it, he'd be screwing himself over more than he was screwing everyone else.

"Good for you," she said, and she sounded mildly surprised. "You're doing _so_ , _so_ _well_."

Sebastian just glared at her. He grabbed the plate, and then put his foot on the table. "At least don't act so surprised."

Lena burst into tears again, which made him a little pissed off because even he started shedding the waterworks too. And then he didn't know what happened. It was like something clicked in his brain that… this wasn't so bad. He guessed that being a big ole cry baby wasn't so bad if he felt okay afterwards. Lena hugged him, and it felt good to be around someone from his real family that, you know, didn't call him out on being stupid, or pathetic.

When he got back home (?) after crying in his car and cursing, he felt a lot better. Sebastian looked like he'd probably been run over by a car, but at least he felt okay. Marlene looked up from her phone when he walked in.

He already took off his shoes and tossed them somewhere. By now, his mom and him would've already fought about it and he'd usually be in his room, stewing in his hatred. Poor Hols didn't even tell him not to do it. She just usually saw his shoes and put them away. Then she would embarrassingly pinch his cheeks and tell him that she already made his bed and that she moved some stuff around when she cleaned his room. _Is that okay?_ Jeez Louise.

"You look like you've been through hell," Marlene said, patting down to the couch beside him. "Come here."

"I still look better than you," Sebastian said, sitting down beside her. "What are you doing?"

Marlene was still texting on her phone. "I'm texting my boyfriend," she said. Sebastian felt nostalgic. Wow. He hadn't gotten laid in so long he almost forgot how it was like to have his own guy. "You want to come? There's gonna be a huge party at my friend's house. There's going to be a lot of booze. Plus, you already picked me up last time."

Sebastian nodded his head. "Sure," he said. "I'll be the good guy... on constant supervision and making sure my fake sis isn't drinking too much."

Marlene scoffed. "Yeah, right," when she leaned back, her pillow tits became even larger. It was kind of amazing. If Sebastian found her mildly attractive, it must mean that straight guys probably would climb mountains solely to get into her pants. Plus, he was jealous of how firm her ass looked. "I'm sure _I'd_ be supervising you… Trent told us about Scandals."

Sebastian just shrugged. So what? "Yeah, did he also tell you that alcohol is seven calories per gram?"

"Seriously?" Marlene looked at him like he just went into cardiac arrest (been there. Done that). "Here I was, impressed by how much of a non-gay gay guy you are, and you suddenly throw that at me… besmirching your own reputation. I mean—Trent told us that you had a food problem, but you've been pretty great at covering it up. You came in here, looking like you wanted to play Jack Skellington and now… you look _almost_ normal. It suits you."

"Thanks," Sebastian was pretty sure that he did not look bad when he came in here, but whatever.

Marlene kept trying to read his facial expression. "What's up with you?"

"I'm trying to figure out what the catch is here," he was still unconvinced that this wasn't going to blow up in his face. Even though his mom hadn't come screeching at the doorway taking him back home (not like she wanted to), Sebastian was still pretty convinced that this fairy-tale was going to be over. He didn't feel like this was his life. It was hard for his head to digest how much change had happened in the last few weeks alone. "Hey, I'm a little pessimistic. What can I say?"

Marlene rolled her eyes. "Yeah, Trent also told us that you like to screw yourself over."

When did everyone else suddenly became an expert in his personality? But yeah, she was right. Everything was good, so why was he actively looking for a reason that things were going to fail? He didn't get it.

That night when he talked with Kurt, they made up plans to see each other at the holidays. It was going to be good.

Sebastian was trying to think about how it'll be like—you know, to have real holidays again. That would be nice.

That night, Jeff and Nick totally came over to spend the night. They were sitting in the dining room table. They ate Chinese food and followed it up with this giant chocolate cake. And… things were okay.

He sat down afterwards, opened a book he was reading about something he probably read before.

Sebastian could guess the ending more or less. He didn't know what was going to happen in the future. He didn't know if he still going to be parked out in front of someone's house at like thirty, reading a book just to calm his nerves.

He didn't know if he was going to end up relapsing in like a year or two or if his restrictive eating disorder would somehow suddenly turn into a binge-eating disorder (because that happened in the IP place) and he'd be back in France at three hundred pounds with no family like he did before. Sebastian didn't know what his weight meant to him anymore, or if he even liked lacrosse as much as he did (it did come from a place of obsession, right?). He didn't know if he was going to fall in love in the next few weeks, or months. All he knew was that it had been a fucking year and a half since he got laid, and he wanted to, you know. Sebastian wanted to be a little bit more like himself. Reckless and a little wild and spontaneous. He was okay with drinking a million calories of booze but become instantly paralysed when someone tried to feed him whole milk.

Boring, right? Whatever. Sebastian wasn't there to entertain people. He had enough of his own mental bullshit.

By the way, if you were curious enough, the dog ate mutilated his book and ate the last few pages for his supper because he was also bored. Sebastian was pretty pissed about that.

He wanted to know how it ended.


End file.
